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THE 



NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 



If l-(BaB]IiSJS ®W f HE II.I[ff SlEiiWIBmil 



GRANITE STATE 



For the strength of the hills we bless thee, 

Our God, our fathers' God ! 
Thou hast made thy children mighty, 

By the touch of the mountain sod. 
Thou hast fixed our ark of refuge 

Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod ; 
For the strength of thy hills we bless thee, 

Our God, our fathers' God ! 

NASHVILLE T- ""^ 

PUBLISHED BY CHARLES T. GILL 
1844. 



A* 



t^^^^^ 



.^-.A 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight 
hundred and forty one, by 

CHARLES J. FOX AJND SAMUEL OSGOOD, 

in the Clerk's Office of the Dist. Court for the Dist. of New-Hampshire. 



BOSTON. 

fRINTED BY S. N. DICKINSON, 

WASHINGTON STREST. 



TO 



THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS 



Nero i^ampsljire, 



AX HOME AiJD ABROAD, 



THESE SPECIMENS OF NATIVE LITERATURE 



ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 



BY THE EDITORS. 



PREFACE 



It is needless to make an apology for gathering into a volume these 
specimens of literature, that have no common tie except an origin in 
our own State. There is doubtless sufficient value in this selection to 
make it worthy the attention of the public, and sufficient State feel- 
ing among us to render it peculiarly interesting to the sons and 
daughters of New Hampshire. 

It is of course impossible in one small volume like this, to do jus- 
tice to the literature and talent of our State. New Hampshire has 
been called the Scotland of America, and her sons, like the Scotch, 
have visited every region, and left monuments of their enterprise and 
ability wherever they have gone. The literature of almost all the 
States in our Union must be thoroughly scrutinized, before we can 
do justice to our own State. Referring our readers to the list of 
authors contained in the present work, and to the various posts and 
professions which they adorn, we would present these merely as spec- 
imens of our literary wealth, without in the least pretending to give 
an idea of its whole extent. Many writers have been omitted, whose 
works we would gladly have noticed. It has not been always possi- 
ble to find the older and rarer works of our citizens ; and moreover it 
has been very difficult to represent some whole departments of litera- 
ture, for instance, the theological and legal. Many of our prominent 
clergymen have put forth no productions that might not be considered 
as too much of a denominational character ; and most of the learned 
arguments of our lawyers are far better adapted to persuade a jury or 
convince a judge than to give charm to a pleasant volume like this. 
Many able and distinguished men among us have published nothing, 
that has come to our knowledge ; and we have doubtless overlooked 
the claims of many young men of high talent, who have gone from us 
and settled in distant places, and the place of whose birth it is not easy 
to ascertain. In the diffi^rent colleges in the South and West, about 
forty natives of our State are employed as professors or presiding 
officers. 

We have tried to represent all classes, professions and interests 
fairly in our selections, and if we have erred in any respect, it has 
1* 



been rather from ignorance or inadvertence than from any conscious 
partiahties. 

It has been our aim to give specimens of the writings only of 
natives of the State. In a very few cases we have departed from this 
rule in regard to individuals, who have lived so long among us, as to 
have become identified with the State. 

It will be observed, that a considerable proportion of the authors 
in our collection have not spent their lives in the State, but have 
sought their fortunes in other regions. But their writings may be 
considered as none the less native and characteristic ; for it is the land 
of one's birth and early breeding, that forms the character and de- 
velopes the powers. A sufficient reason for the departure of so many 
citizens from our State, maybe found in the want of those large cities, 
which alone are able to reward brilliant talents. 

This collection is by no means meagre in poetry. We are able to 
give a satisfactory answer to the query of a writer in the North Amer- 
ican Review some ten years ago, who marvelled that a State, so 
rich in beautiful and sublime scenery as our own, had given no con- 
siderable indication of poetic talent. We refer to our pages for satis- 
factory proof, that the Muses have dwelt among our mountains, lakes 
and rivers, and that not only in sturdy enterprise, but in other respects, 
New Hampshire is not unworthy of her name, — the Scotland of 
America. 

With these few suggestions, we present our work to the reader, 
asking for ourselves but the humble credit of compilation, and of 
course with no claim to the reputation of authorship. 

JVashua, Dec. 11, 1841. 



CONTENTS. 



EARLY SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. N. A. HAVEN,. 

SONG OF THE PILGRIMS. THOMAS C* UPHAM, , 

JOHN LANGDON. JACOB B. MOORE, 

LA Fayette's return, philip carrigain, 

VINDICATION OF NEW ENGLAND. DANIEL WEBSTER, . . . 

OLD WINTER IS COMING. HUGH MOORE, 

THE SPARROW 's NEST. ROBERT DINSMOOR, 



13 

21- 

22 

26 
28 
33 
34 



THE BIBLE AS A HUMAN COMPOSITION. EDWARD PAYSON, 36 

THE LIGHT OF HOME. MRS. SARAH J. HALE, • 44 

THE ROYAL PENITENT. MISS SARAH PORTER, 4o 

AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE. JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER, 47 

TRIBUTE TO MY NATIVE STREAM. NATHANIEL H. CARTER, 52 

MONADNOCK. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY, 54 

SOLEMN REVIEW OF WAR. NOAH WORCESTER, 56 

THE LYRE. MILTON WARD, 60 

SONG OF THE HUSBANDMAN. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 62 

AUTUMN. NATHANIEL A. HAVEN, 64 

SKETCH OF CHIEF JUSTICE RICHARDSON. JOEL PARKER, 65 

HYMN OF PRAISE. CARLOS WILCOX, 69 

MAUVAISE HONTE. OLIVER W. B. PEABODY, 71 

THE MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. ISAAC HILL, 72 

FLATTERY. THOMAS G. FESSENDEN, 78 

west's PICTURE OF THE INFANT SAMUEL. EPHRAIM PEABODY, . . 79- 

THE father's CHOICE. MRS. SARAH J. HALE 80 

HOW THEY USED TO SPELL. WARREN BURTON, 82 

HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS. NATHANIEL H. CARTER, 86 

THE TRUE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. SAMUEL WORCESTER, 88 

THE GRAVE OF PAYSON. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN, 91-- 

DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. LEVI WOODBURY, 93 

SONG OF THE ANGELS IN ' FAUST.' GEORGE W. HAVEN, 99 

THE RIVER MERRIMAC. WILLIAM M. RICHARDSON, JOO 

DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. WILLIAM S. BALCH, 102 

THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY,. 107 

RECOLLECTIONS OF PETERBOROUGH. JAMES WILSON 109 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

'.SONNETS. THOMAS C. UPHAM, , 114 

THE STUDIES or AN ORATOR. SAMUEL G. BROWN, 115 

-ROUSSEAU AND COWPER. CARLOS WILCOX, 120 

THE CENTENNIAL OF PETERBOROUGH. JOHN H. MORISON, 122 

-THE COURSE OF CULTURE. THOMAS G. FESSENDEN, 127 

KNOWLEDGE OF EACH OTHER IN A FUTURE STATE. J. E. ABBOT,. 129 

-PRAYER. NATHANIEL A. HAVEN, c 132 

THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. HENRY HUBBARD, 133 

-BOCHIM. MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON, 140 

MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL CULTURE. JESSE APPLETON, 141 

-THE WHITE CLOVER. MISS SARAH SMITH, 146 

A MELTING STORY. FROM THE ' PICAYUNE,' G. W. KENDALL,. . . 147 

-THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN, 151 

CHARACTER OF REV. DR. PARKER. SAMUEL E. COUES, 152 

•^HE victor's crown. MRS. SARAH J. HALE, 155 

NIGHT. FROM THE ' LAY PREACHER.' JOSEPH DENNIE, 156 

'THE SUMACH TREE. MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON, 159 

THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. LEWIS CASS, 160 

THE AUTUMN EVENING. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY, 166 

WOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER, ,... 167 

THE eagle's SPEECH. HORATIO HALE, , 172 

EARLY BAPTISTS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. EBENEZER E. CUMMINGS,. 174 

-CASUAL COUNSEL. HORACE GREELEY, 178 

THE MAIDEN AT CHURCH. BENJAMIN B. FRENCH, 180 

THE HOMES OF NEW ENGLAND. ABIEL A. LIVERMORE, 181 

-WATCH AND PRAY. JOHN G. ADAMS, 184 

^VIY grandmother's elm. MRS. MARY ANN SULLIVAN, 185 

MORALS OF THE CURRENCY. NATHAN APPLETON, 186 

DEATH OF MURRAY. MRS. L. J. B. CASE, 189 

DEATH OF HA3IILT0N. PHILANDER CHASE, 190 

FRANCONIA MOUNTAIN NOTCH. HARRY HIBBARD, 195 

WASHINGTON. BENJAMIN ORR, = 199 

• NAPOLEON AT MELUN. MRS. SUSAN R. A. BARNES, 201 

FREEDOM AND PROGRESS. CHARLES G. ATHERTON,... 203 

- CHOCORU a's CURSE. CHARLES J. FOX, 208 

THE DEATH OF HARRISON. CHARLES B. IIADDUCK, 210 

-ORDINATION HYMN. GEORGE KENT, 214 

-RATHER HYPERBOLICAL. HORATIO HALE, 215 

THE STUDY OF THE CLASSICS. EDWIN D. SANBORN, 216 

-q-HE OLD man's LAST DREAM. BENJAMIN B. FRENCH, 220 

-THE FRIEND OF AN HOUR. HARRIETTE V. M. FRENCPI, 222 

THE m' LEAN ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE. LUTHER V. BELL, 223 

.SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. CARLOS WILCOX, 226 

MYSTERY, REASON, FAITH. EPHRAIM PEABODY, 229 

. THE ARMY OF THE CROSS. MRS. SUSAN R. A. BARNES,, , 232 



CONTENTS. IX 

THE TREASURED HARP. JAMES T. FIELDS, .... , 234 

LOVEWELL's FIGHT. JOHN FARMER, 235 

-^HE OPIUM SHIPS. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN, 239 

THE BURDOCK. MISS S. W. LIVERMORE, 240 

THE PULPIT STAIRS OF RURUTU. WILLIAM LADD, 241 

LINES. O. W. B. PEABODY, 245 

PASSAGES IN THE HISTORY OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. SALMA HALE,.. 246 

THE AMERICAN EAGLE. MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON, 250 

GOD IS LOYE. HOSEA BALLOU, 351 

EDUCATION IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. NATHANIEL BOUTON, 252 

THE MIRACLE. CHARLES J. FOX, 258- 

THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. HOSEA BALLOU, 260 

COMMERCE. JAMES T. FIELDS,. , 263 

DUTIES OF AMERICAN MOTHERS. DANIEL WEBSTER, 265 

THE FAREWELL. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 268 

SECTARIANISM AND INFIDELITY. RALPH EMERSON, 270 

THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH. GEORGE W. HAVEN, 274 

RHYMES BY A NORTHMAN. B. B. FRENCH, 275 

THE IDEAL OF A TRUE LIFE. HORACE GREELEY, 276 

LINES FOR MY cousin's ALBUM. HORATIO HALE, 280 

APHORISMS. JOSEPH BARTLETT, 281 

THE FIRST SPRING FLOAVER. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 284 

THOMAS ADDIS EMMET. CHARLES G. HAINES, 285 

THE NOVICE. SAMUEL T. HILDRETH, 289 

THE NATIONAL DEFENCES. FRANKLIN PIERCE, 291 

THE TREASURES OF THE SEA. MRS. CAROLINE ORNE 394 

THE GOOD WIFE. GEORGE W. BURNAP, 296 

TO MY BIBLE. JOHN G. ADAMS, 300 

THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. GEORGE SULLIVAN, 301 

THE INDEPENDENT FARMER. THOMAS G. FESSENDEN, 304 

SPRING IS COMING. HUGH MOORE, 305 - 

INSANITY AND CRIME. ICHABOD BARTLETT, 306 

THE BACKWOODSMAN. EPHRAIM PEABODY, 309 

agriculture: its dignity and importance. JOHN A. DIX, .... 311 

FAME AND LOVE. SAMUEL T. HILDRETH, 315 

I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. OTIS A. SKINNER, 316 

THE AUTUMN ROSE. MISS MARY S. PATTERSON, 319 

THE TRUE PATRIOT. JEREMIAH SMITH, 320 

SLEIGHING SONG. JAMES T. FIELDS, 324 

THE AMERICAN EDUCATION SOCIETY. WILLIAM COGSWELL, 325 

THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. A SCHOOL GIRL, 328 " 

THE WATER OF LIFE. W B. O. PEABODY, 329 

LEONORE d'eSTE. MRS. L. J. B. CASE, 334 

CHARACTER OF REV. JOSEPH EMERSON. CALEB J. TENNEY, 336 

HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 338 



X CONTENTS. 

THE FOUNDERS OF OUR GOVERNMENT. WILLIAM M. RICHARDSON, 339 

" WE 'lL meet again." SAMUEL T. HILDRETH, 343" 

ENERGY OF THE WILL THOMAS C. UPHA.M, ,... 344 

BATTLE OF LUNDy'S LANE. CALEB STARK, 347 

CUSTOMS OF OUR FATHERS. ARIEL ABBOT, 349 

ANDRE. CHARLES W. UPHAM, 352 

TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. REUBEN D. MUSSEY, 354 

THE skater's SONG. EPHRAIM PEABODY, 358 

the aborigines of new england. jeremy belknap, 361 

Jacob's funeral, charles w. upham, 365 

importance of moral science. william d. wilson, 366 

" do they love there still ? " mrs. mary r. pratt, 369 - 

burns and cowper. o. w. b. peabody, 370 

harvest hymn. mrs. eunice t. daniels, 377 

the duty of the judiciary. jeremiah mason, 378 

our mountain homes. mrs. s. r. a. barnes, , 381 

vindication of new hampshire. george barstow; 383 

NOTES, , 388 



THE NE¥-HAMPSHffiE BOOK, 



THE 



NEW-HAMPSHIEE EOOK. 



THE FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

FROM AN ORATION DELIVERED AT PORTSMOUTH, MAY 21, IS'JS, ON THE SECOND 
CENl'ENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF ITS SETTLEMENT. 



"BY NATHANIEL APPLETON HAVEN. 

[Born at Portsmouth, Jan. 14, 1790. Died at Portsmouth, June 3, 1826.] 

Two hundred years ago, the place on which we stand 
was an uncultivated forest. The rough and vigorous soil 
was still covered with the stately trees, which had been, for 
ages, intermingling their branches and deepening the shade. 
The river, which now bears on its bright and pure waters 
the treasures of distant climates, and whose rapid current 
is stemmed and vexed by the arts and enterprise of man, 
then only rippled against the rocks, and reflected back the 
wild and grotesque thickets which overhung its banks. 
The mountain which now swells on our left, and raises its 
verdant side " shade above shade," was then almost con- 
cealed by the lofty growth which covered the intervening 
plains. Behind us, a deep morass, extending across to the 
northern creek, almost enclosed the little " Bank," which 
is now the seat of so much life and industry. It was then 
a wild and tangled thicket, interspersed with venerable trees 
and moss-grown rocks, and presenting, here and there, a 
sunny space covered with the blossoms and early fruit of 
the little plant that gave it its name. This " Bank," so 
2 



14 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

wild and rude, two hundred years ago was first impressed 
with the step of civilized man. 

The influence of local association is strong and universal. 
There is no one who has not felt it ; and if it were possible, 
it would be useless to withdraw the mind from its effects. 
We owe many of our deepest emotions, our 'highest and 
most ennobling feelings, to the suggestions of external na- 
ture. The place which has been distinguished by the 
residence of one whom we love and admire, kindles in our 
minds a thousand conceptions, which we can scarcely ana- 
lyze or describe. The moral beauty of character and sen- 
timent is insensibly blended with the beauty of natural 
scenery ; memory and fancy, alike excited, pass from one 
object to another, and form combinations of beauty and 
grandeur, softened and shaded by time and distance, but 
having enough of life and freshness to awaken our feelings 
and hold undisputed dominion of our hearts. Here, then, 
let us indulge our emotions. On this spot our forefathers 
trod. Here their energy and perseverance, their calm self- 
possession and practical vigor, were first called into action. 
Here they met and overcame difficulties, which would have 
overpowered the imagination or subdued the fortitude of 
ordinary men. All that we see around us are memorials 
of their worth. It was their enterprise that opened a path 
for us over the waters. It was their energy that subdued 
the forest. They founded our institutions. They commu- 
nicated to us our love of freedom. They gave us the im- 
pulse that made us what we are. It cannot then be useless 
to live along the generations that have passed, and endeavor 
to identify ourselves with those who have gone before us. 
W7io and what were they, who thus fill our imaginations, 
and as they rise before us, bring to our minds so many 
recollections of high sentiment, and steady fortitude, and 
sober enthusiasm ? In what school were they formed ? and 
what favorable circumstances impressed upon them that 
character of enduring energy, which even their present de- 
scendants may claim as their best inheritance? The an- 



FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 15 

swer to these questions is the subject to which your atten- 
tion will be directed. 

The character of individuals is always influenced, in a 
greater or less degree, by that of the nation in which they 
live. Sometimes indeed a great genius appears, who seems 
not to belong either to his age or country ; as a sunny day 
in winter will sometimes swell the buds and call forth the 
early flowers, as if it belonged to a milder season or happier 
climate. But in general, to form an accurate opinion of 
the character of an individual, it becomes necessary to es- 
timate that of his nation at the time in which he lived. 
Our ancestors were Englishmen ; were Merchant-adven- 
turers ; were Puritans. The elements of their character 
are therefore to be found in the national character of Eng- 
land, modified in the individuals by the pursuits of com- 
merce, and the profession of an austere but ennobling form 
of religion. 

Such were the men from whom we derive our origin ; 
and such were the circumstances which impressed upon 
them that peculiar character, which it is hoped the lapse of 
two centuries has not yet obliterated. We may justly be 
proud of such a descent ; for no ancestry in the world is 
half so illustrious, as the Puritan founders of New England. 
It is not merely that they w^ere good men, and religious 
men, exhibiting in their lives an example of purity and 
temperance and active virtue, such as no other community 
in the world could present ; but they possessed the dazzling 
qualities of human greatness. Do we love to dwell upon 
scenes of romantic adventure? Does our imagination kin- 
dle at the thought of distant enterprise, among a strange 
people, exposed to constant and unusual peril ? Do we 
turn with delight to those bold and heroic achievements 
which call forth the energy of our nature, and by that deep 
excitement which belongs to the hopes and hazards of war, 
awaken us to a new consciousness of existence ? All this 
is found in the history of our ancestors. They were heroes 
as well as pilgrims, and nothing is wanting but the pen of 



16 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

genius to make their prowess and adventures the theme of 
a world's admiration. 

But here was the scene of their earthly toils. This spot 
was consecrated by their labors and sufferings. Perhaps 
their spirits still linger among us. Perhaps they are here, 
conscious beings ministering to our progress, and rejoicing 
in our gladness. Could they now be made visible to mor- 
tal eye, and stand among us ; engaged with us in reviewing 
the past, and tracing along the progress of time and events 
to the present hour, how would they describe our present 
condition and character ? With what wonder would they 
speak of the progress of improvement ! Even those mer- 
chant-adventurers, who two hundred years ago came from 
London, just then beginning to assume its rank as the com- 
mercial capital of the world, would speak with surprise and 
delight of those glorious monuments of human art — those 
lofty ships, which almost every breeze wafts to our river ; 
but to what admiration would their feelings be exalted in 
viewing those stupendous vessels, which are designed to 
carry our nation's strength to the remotest seas, and which 
impress England herself, in the pride of her naval glory, 
with respect for our power and skill ! If they passed up 
the river to the fertile spot which Plilton and Waldron se- 
lected for their settlement, and inquired if the descendants 
of those West-Country adventurers retained the knowledge 
of arts and manufactures which their ancestors must have 
learned in England, could their astonishment be expressed 
in witnessing the triumph of human ingenuity and the won- 
ders of mechanical skill, which would there be shown them? 
When they cast their eyes over the country which, even at 
their deaths, they left rough and unsubdued, scarcely yield- 
ing to them a scanty subsistence, and beheld the picture of 
human comfort and human happiness which it every where 
presents, would they confess that their brightest anticipa- 
tions of the fortune of -their descendants exceeded the reali- 
ty ? But they would inquire of our character, of our moral 
and intellectual improvement. They would ask if our prog- 



FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 17 

ress had been equal to our advantages ? And here, though 
we might dwell with just pride upon many circumstances in 
our character as a people, there are others which we should 
wish, if possible, to conceal from their view. We could 
speak with confidence of the liberality of our institutions, of 
our freedom from the superstitions and prejudices of former 
ages. We could in enterprise, and hardihood, and manli- 
ness of spirit, claim to be the equals of our fathers. We 
could point to our public schools, as a noble monument of 
public spirit and liberality. We could present our college 
and our numerous academies to their scrutiny, and fearless- 
ly challenge their approbation. We could produce exam- 
ples of literary and professional exertion, which would prove 
that we had not faltered in intellectual improvement, behind 
the progress of the age. But if they questioned us of our 
puritan habits, of our temperance, of our zeal to avail our- 
selves of the advantages of education, we should be obliged 
reluctantly to confess that our virtues had not equalled the 
virtues of our fathers. 

Yet with all her faults — and I would neither extenuate 
nor deny them — we may rejoice that we are natives of 
New Hampshire. I would not yield precedence for my 
native State, in all that constitutes the worth of political as- 
sociations, to the proudest realm that ever advanced its pre- 
tensions in the great community of nations. Nay more : 
I would not yield precedence for New Hampshire, in en- 
terprise and manly virtue, in love of liberty, in talents, in 
the wisdom and liberality of her institutions, in every thino- 
that constitutes the peculiar excellence of the American 
character, to the most exalted of her sister states. Let me 
not be thought arrogant in assuming firmly this o-round. 
While we yield precedence to none, we claim it from none. 
The very character of our soil and climate must make our 
people hardy, athletic, and brave. It is a country of labor • 
of constant, unceasing exertion. The bounties of nature 
are indeed scattered around us with a liberal hand ; but 
they are offered only to labor Hence the very necessities 
2* 



18 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

of our situation impress us with a character of mental en- 
ergy. From the first occupation of the country to the pres- 
ent time, we have had an unbroken succession of resolute 
and undaunted men, devoted to their country, proud of their 
privileges, and zealous in their defence. The zeal which 
animated Pickering, Waldron, and Vaughan, in their con- 
tests with Mason, continued long after to glow in the hearts 
of Weare, Bartlett, Langdon, and Oilman, when exerted in 
a nobler cause. The chivalrous spirit and martial gallantry 
which made Lovewell and Bickford so formidable to the 
Indians, burned with new vigor in Cilley, M'Clary, and 
Scammel ; in Reid and Poor ; in Sullivan and Stark. The 
devotion to the interests of the Province, which distinguish- 
ed Wentworth and Sherburne, Penhallow and Rindge, has 
been found in thousands of others, who, like them, were 
ready to devote their time and labor to the service of the 
State. In the pursuits of science and professional skill, 
New Hampshire has at least kept on the level of the age. 
We still hear of the classical erudition of Parker, the judi- 
cial knowledge of Pickering, the finished eloquence of West. 
Jackson, and Bracket, and Cutter were fiimiliar with the 
whole of medical science, as it existed in their times ; and 
in the pulpit a long line of pious and learned and eloquent 
men, from Moody to Buckminster, have at once enforced 
the doctrines and illustrated the spirit of Christianity. The 
venerated name which I have last pronounced can scarcely 
be uttered from this place without exciting deep emotion ; 
and it is connected with another, that at once calls to our 
remembrance all that is delicate and refined in taste, that is 
graceful and engaging in manners, that is generous and ele- 
vated in sentiment. When we have named him, we have 
no apprehensions for our literary fame. 

If it were still necessary to assert our just claims to dis- 
tinction, we could point to living examples of merit, which 
would at once produce conviction. The sons of New Hamp- 
shire are scattered through every state of the Union. They 
are found in the judicial tribunals, the literary institutions, 



FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 19 

the halls of legislation, the military and naval establishments 
of our country ; and in all these various situations, we can 
safely hold them up to public view, and with honest pride 
claim them for our own. 

I have already alluded to the force of local association ; 
and I would again advert to it in considering the ties which 
ought to bind us to our native land. Other countries may 
possess a richer soil and a gentler sky ; but where shall we 
find the rude magnificence of nature so blended with scenes 
of enchanting beauty, as among our mountains and lakes? 
Believe me, it is because our country is yet unexplored, that 
her scenes of beauty and grandeur, her bright waters and 
swelling hills, her rich pasturage of living green, mingled 
with fresh flowers, and skirted with deep and shady forests ; 
her fields teeming with life and vegetation ; her mountains 
rising into the dark blue sky, and blending their summits 
with the purple clouds ; her streams rushing from the hill 
side, and hastening to mingle with the sea, or lingerino- in 
the solitude of her valleys, and sparkling in the glorious 
sunshine ; — it is because these are unexplored, that they 
are unsung. The time is not far distant, when the poet 
will kindle into rapture, and the painter glow with emotion, 
in delineating our romantic scenery. 

But it is our moral associations that must bind us forever 
to the land of our fathers. It is a land of equal rights ; its 
soil is not polluted by a slave. It is a land of religious free- 
dom ; no hierarchy can here exalt its head, no pontiff can 
hurl his thunders over a trembling and prostrate multitude. 
It is a land of industry and toil ; affording in this a constant 
pledge of the manly virtues. It is a land of knowledge and 
progressive improvement. In no part of the world is so 
liberal a provision made by law for public instruction. It 
is a land whose inhabitants have already fulfilled the high 
duties to which they have been called. Other nations have 
gathered more laurels in the field of blood ; other nations 
have twined more garlands and sung louder praise for their 
poets and orators and philosophers ; but where has romantic 



20 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

courage and adventurous skill been more strikingly exhibit- 
ed ? Where has practical wisdom been better displayed ? 
In the hour of danger, her sons have been foremost in the 
battle. In every contest for the rights of mankind, her 
voice has always been raised on the side of freedom. And 
now that she stands possessed of every thing which civil 
and political liberty can bestow, she is vigilant and jealous 
for the preservation of her rights, and is among the first 
to resist encroachment. 

But we are connected with the future, as well as with the 
past. We are but a link in the vast chain of being, which 
is to bind our remotest desceiKiants with our earliest ances- 
tors ; and it is one of the advantages of a celebration like 
this, that it reminds us of our duties, as well as our privi- 
leges. A new century is opening upon us, which none of 
us will live to complete. Our children are about to take 
our places. When another century has passed away, the 
events of this day will be the subject of historical research. 
Our character and conduct will then be examined. It will 
be asked, what ive did to perpetuate the blessings we receiv- 
ed ; what exertions ive made to enlighten and purify and 
bless mankind ; what measures loe devised to secure at once 
the rights of the people, and the stability and dignity of the 
government ; what zeal loe displayed for our religious insti- 
tutions ; what sacrifices ice made in the cause of human 
virtue and human happiness. We are living, even the hum- 
blest of us, not for ourselves only ; but for society, for pos- 
terity, for the human race. Whatever we can do for our- 
selves, or for them, becomes at once our imperious duty to 
do. There is no escape from the obligation. There should 
be no delay in the performance — no hesitation. These 
questions will be asked. The answer is yet in our own 
power. 



SONG OF THE PILGRIMS. 



WRITTEN FOR THE SECOND CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION AT DOVER, 1823. 



BY THOMAS C. UPHAM. 



The breeze has swelled the whitening sail, 
The blue waves curl beneath the gale, 
And, bounding with the wave and wind. 
We leave Old England's shores behind : 
Leave behind our native shore, 
Homes, and all we loved before. 

The deep may dash, the winds may blow, 
The storm spread out its wings of wo. 
Till sailors' eyes can see a shroud 
Hung in the folds of every cloud } 
Still, as long as life shall last. 
From that shore we '11 speed us fast. 

For we would rather never be. 
Than dwell where mind cannot be free, 
But bows beneath a despot's rod. 
Even where it seeks to worship God. 

Blasts of heaven, onward sweep ! 

Bear us o'er the troubled deep ! 

O see what wonders meet our eyes ! 

Another land, and other skies ! 

Columbian hills have met our view ! 

Adieu ! Old England's shores, adieu ! 
Here at length our feet shall rest. 
Hearts be free, and homes be blest. 

As long as yonder firs shall spread 
Their green arms o'er the mountain's head 
As long as yonder cliffs shall stand. 
Where join the ocean and the land. 

Shall those cliffs and mountains be 

Proud retreats for liberty. 

Now to the King of kings we '11 raise 
The pcean loud of sacred praise ; 
More loud than sounds the swelling breeze. 
More loud than speak the rolling seas ! 

Happier lands have met our view ! 

England's shores, adieu ! adieu ! 



SKETCH OF JOHN LANGDON. 

BY JACOB B. MOORE. 

The circumstances attending the early settlement of 
Massachusetts and New Hampshire, though generally sup- 
posed to be similar, were in some respects widely different. 
The planters of the old Bay State left their native country, 
for the sake of enjoying here a degree of freedom in religion, 
of which they were deprived in the land of their fathers. 
The settlers of Piscataqua were actuated by a very differ- 
ent purpose. The pursuit of gain was uppermost in their 
thoughts, and they embarked at once in the fisheries and 
trade, which they followed with success, until many of the 
first settlers became men of opulence in the new country. 
The great importance of the fisheries seems not to have 
escaped the attention of Captain Smith, the discoverer of 
New Hampshire ; for in his account of New England he 
thus addresses his countrymen : " Therefore, honorable and 
worthy countrymen, let not the meanness of the word fish 
distaste you, for it will afford you as good gold as the mines 
of Potosi and Guiana, with less hazard and change, and more 
certainty and facility." 

A reverend divine, in 1690, was preaching in Portsmouth, 
on the depravity of the times, and said : " You have for- 
saken the pious habits of your forefathers, who left the ease 
and comfort which they possessed in their native land, and 
came to this howling wilderness, to enjoy, without molesta- 
tion, the exercise of their pure principles of religion." One 
of the congregation immediately rose, and interrupted him 
thus : " Sir, you entirely mistake the matter ; our ancestors 



SKETCH OF JOHN LANGDON. 23 

did not come here on account of their religion, hut to fish 
and tracle.'^ A better illustration of the pursuits of the 
early settlers of New Hampshire, perhaps, it would be diffi- 
cult to give. The people of Portsmouth, wealthy and en- 
terprising as they are, have followed the advice of Captain 
Smith, and have never suffered " the word fish to distaste 
them," but have made it indeed " a mine of gold " to that 
ancient and flourishing town. 

Among the citizens of New Hampshire, educated as mer- 
chants, who have risen to public distinction, no one, per- 
haps, occupied a wider space than John Langdon of Ports- 
mouth. He was born in 1740, and received his early edu- 
cation in the celebrated grammar school of Major Samuel 
Hale. The father of young Langdon, who was a thrifty 
farmer, intended his son should engage in the same occupa- 
tion ; but the latter, looking upon commerce as the grand 
highway to wealth, set his heart upon becoming a merchant, 
and accordingly made the necessary preparations to enter a 
counting-house. 

One of the most extensive and successful mercantile 
houses at that time in Portsmouth, was that of Daniel 
Rindge, a counsellor under the provincial government, and 
to him young Langdon made application, and was admitted 
to his counting-house, and soon became thoroughly versed 
in commercial transactions. After completing his appren- 
ticeship with Rindge, he made several successful and very 
profitable trading voyages, with the view of ultimately estab- 
lishing a commercial house of his own, in his native town. 
But the dark clouds that preceded the Revolution began to 
skirt the horizon, and his mind was suddenly turned in a 
new direction. Naturally of a bold and fearless disposition, 
he entered at once into the feeling of the colonists ; and, 
possessing in a remarkable degree the power to win over 
multitudes, he became the acknowledged leader of the 
" sons of liberty " in that little Province, as much so as 
Samuel Adams and John Hancock in Massachusetts. 

Langdon was a leader exactly suited to the crisis. He 
took a conspicuous and active part in the struggle, and soon 



24 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

became obnoxious to the government and many of the loyal 
citizens, who feared the total annihilation of their trade, and 
looked upon disloyalty as a crime of the deepest dye. In 
the fall of 1774, after it had become apparent that the crisis 
must come, Langdon gathered around him a band of choice 
spirits, and together they proceeded in silence to the king's 
fort at New Castle, seized upon all the powder and military 
stores, and removed their booty to a place of concealment, 
whence it could be called into use in case of emergency. 
This bold act produced at once an intense excitement. 
Gov. Wentworth stormed, and issued proclamations, but 
not a voice uttered or a thought whispered the secret. 
This was in December, four months before the battle of 
Lexington. 

In the spring of the year 1775, John Langdon was cho- 
sen a deleo-ate to Confrress, and attended the session which 
commenced in May, at Philadelphia. In January, 1776, 
he was re-appointed a delegate, but was not present on the 
adoption of the Declaration of Independence. He com- 
manded a company of cadets soon after the commencement 
of the war ; and at the time of the surrender of the British 
army under Burgoyne, he was a volunteer at Bennington. 
He was also at Rhode Island with a detachment of his 
company, at the time the British troops had possession of 
the island, and when General Sullivan brought off the 
American troops. No man had a higher popularity with 
the people, at this time, than John Langdon. He was 
elected repeatedly to the legislature, and was for several 
years Speaker of the Assembly. 

When the news of the fall of Ticonderoga reached 
New Hampshire, the provincial legislature was in session 
at Exeter. It was at a period when the resources of the 
patriots were almost exhausted, the public credit was gone, 
and the members of the Assembly were disheartened. The 
men of New Hampshire had already exerted themselves to 
the utmost for the good of the cause. John Langdon was 
Speaker of the Assembly at the time. He rose in his 
place, on the morning after the intelligence was received, 



SKETCH OF JOHN LANGDON. 25 

and addressed the house to the following effect : " My 
friends and fellow-citizens : I have three thousand dollars 
in hard money; I will pledge my plate for three thousand 
more. I have seventy hogsheads of Tobago rum, which 
shall be sold for the most it will bring. These are at the 
service of the State. If we succeed in defending our fire- 
sides and homes, I may be remunerated ; if we do not, the 
property will be of no value to me." 

This noble proposal infused new life into the Assembly ; 
and in the course of a few days, by means of the funds 
advanced by John Langdon, a brigade was assembled, and 
on its march to the frontiers, and to victory, under the gal- 
lant Stark. During the whole of the revolutionary strug- 
gle, Langdon was ever active and constant in his labors for 
the good cause. A man of the people, in the emphatic 
sense of the term, he was always popular with the great 
mass, whose interests he made it a point to sustain on all 
occasions. Possessing a handsome address, and being open, 
obliging, and generous in his general conduct, he was cal- 
culated to gain the public esteem, and was among the few 
who were fortunate enough to retain it through life. He 
was honored with the highest offices the people could 
bestow. He was twice President of the State, under its 
first constitution ; was a member of the convention which 
formed the federal constitution ; was twelve years Senator 
in Congress, and subsequently, for six years Governor of 
the State. In 1811, he retired from public life, although 
urgently pressed to accept the Vice-Presidency, an office 
to which he might have been elected, had he not preferred 
the quiet and repose of private life. In the enjoyment of 
domestic relations, in his family, and a wide circle of 
friends, he chose to pass the evening of his days remote 
from the cares and bustle of public life. He was religious, 
without being obnoxious to the charge of bigotry; and 
was liberal of his ample means, for charitable and benev- 
olent purposes. He died at Portsmouth, in September, 
1819, universally lamented by a people, in whose service he 
had spent the greater portion of his active life. 
3 




LA FAYETTE'S RETURN, 



BY PHILIP CARRIGAIN. 



North and South, and East and West, 
A cordial welcome have addressed, 
Loud and warm, the Nation's Guest, 

Dear son of Liberty ; 
Whom tyrants cursed, when Heaven approved, 
And millions long have mourned and loved, 
He comes, by fond entreaties moved. 

The Granite State to see. 

Our mountains tower with matchless pride, 
And mighty torrents from them glide. 
And wintry tempests, far and wide, 

Ridge deep our drifts of snow ; 
Yet does our hardening climate form 
Patriots with hearts as bold and warm. 
At social feast, or battle storm, 

As e'er met friend or foe. 

Bliss domestic, rank, wealth, ease, 
Our guest resigned for stormy seas, 
And for war's more stormy breeze, 

To make our country free ; 
And potent Britain saw, dismayed, 
The lightning of his virgin blade 
To Freedom flash triumphant aid. 

But death to Tyranny. 

Now, in his life's less perilous wane, 
He has re-crossed the Atlantic main. 
Preserved by Heaven, to greet again 

The land he bled to save, 
And those who with him, hand in hand, 
Fought 'neath his mighty sii-e's command, — 
Alas ! how thinned that gallant band, 

Band of the free and brave ! 

Angels, 't is said, at times have stood 
Unseen among the great and good, 
For country's rights who shed their blood. 
Nor has their influence ceased j 



LA Fayette's RETURN. 27 



For party feuds far off are driven. 
Foes reconciled, and wrongs forgiven, 
And this green spot of earth made Heaven, 
For these old heroes' feast. 

They 've met in war, to toil and bleed, 
They 've met in peace, their country freed; 
And unborn millions will succeed 

To their dower, the Rlglits of Man ; 
The Patiiot of both hemispheres, 
Though first on earth, deems all his peers, 
Who joined his war-cry with their cheers, 

Where raged the battle's van. 

Such v/ere the vien our land did save, 
Nor e'er can reach oblivion's wave, 
(Though booming o'er the statesman's grave,) 

Our deep, redeemless debt. 
No ! Merrimack may cease to flow, 
And our White Mountains sink below; 
But nought can cancel what we owe 

To them and La Fayette, 



VINDICATION OF NEW ENGLAND. 

FROM A SPEECH IN REPLY TO IMR. HAYNE OF SOUTH CxVROLINA. 
BY DANIEL WEBSTER. 

The eulogium pronounced on the character of the State 
of South Carolina, for her revokitionary and other merits, 
meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge 
that any man goes before me in regard for whatever of dis- 
tinguished talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina 
has produced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the 
pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, 
one and all. The Lawrences, the Rutledges, the Pinck- 
neys, the Sumpters, the Marions — Americans all — whose 
fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their 
talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed 
within the same narrow limits. In their day and genera- 
tion, they served and honored the country, and the whole 
country ; and their renown is of the treasures of the whole 
country. Him, whose honored name the gentleman him- 
self bears — does he suppose me less capable of gratitude 
for his patriotism or sympathy for his sufferings, than if 
his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, 
instead of South Carolina? Does he suppose it in his 
power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright, as to produce 
envy in my bosom? No, increased gratification and de- 
light rather. I thank God, that if I am gifted with little 
of the spirit which is able to raise mortals to the skies, I 
have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would 
drag angels down. When I shall be found, in my place 
here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, 



VINDICATION OF NEW ENGLAND. 29 

because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of 
my own State or neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any 
such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American 
talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty 
and the country ; or if I see an uncommon endowment of 
Heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any 
son of the South — and if, moved by local prejudice or 
gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe 
of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my 
tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! 

Let me recur to pleasing recollections — let me indulge 
in refreshing remembrance of the past — let me remind 
you that in early times no States cherished greater harmony, 
both of principle and feeling, than Massachusetts and South 
Carolina. Would to God, that harmony might again return ! 
Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution — 
hand in hand they stood round the Administration of Wash- 
ington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. 
Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation and distrust, are the 
growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since 
sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great 
arm never scattered. 

I shall enter on no encomiums upon Massachusetts — 
she needs none. There she is — behold her and judge for 
yourselves. There is her history — the world knows it by 
heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and 
Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill — and there they 
will remain for ever. The bones of her sons, falling in 
the great struggle for Independence, now lie mingled with 
the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia; and 
there they will lie for ever. And, sir, where American 
liberty raised its infant voice; and where its youth was 
nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength 
of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord 
and disunion shall wound it ; if party strife and blind am- 
bition shall hawk at and tear it ; if folly and madness^ if 
3* 



30 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall 
succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its 
existence is made sure ; it will stand, in the end, by the side 
of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will 
stretch forth its arm, with whatever of vigor it may still 
retain, over the friends who may gather round it; and it 
will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monu- 
ments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin. 

But, although there are fears, there are hopes also. The 
people have preserved this, their own chosen Constitution, 
for forty years, and have seen their happiness, prosperity 
and renown grow with its growth, and strengthen with its 
strength. They are now, generally, strongly attached to it. 
Overthrown by direct assault, it cannot be ; evaded, under- 
mined, NULLIFIED, it will uot be, if we, and those vv^ho shall 
succeed us here, as agents and representatives of the peo- 
ple, shall conscientiously and vigilantly discharge the two 
great branches of our public trust — faithfully to preserve, 
and wisely to administer it. 

I have thus stated the reasons of my dissent to the doc- 
trines which have been advanced and maintained. I am 
conscious of having detained you much too long. I was 
drawn into the debate, with no previous deliberation, such 
as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a 
subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and 
I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its 
spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade 
myself to relinquish it, without expressing once more my 
deep conviction, that, since it respects nothing less than 
the union of the States, it is of most vital and essential 
importance to the public happiness. I profess, in my career 
hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and 
honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our 
Federal Union. It is to that union we owe our safety at 
home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to 
that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes 



VINDICATION OF NEW ENGLAND. 31 

US most proud of our country. That union we reached 
only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of 
adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered 
finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its 
benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, 
as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. 
Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proof of its 
utility and its blessings ; and although our territory has 
stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread 
farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or 
its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of na- 
tional, social, and personal happiness. I have not allowed 
myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie 
hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed 
the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite 
us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed 
myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see wheth- 
er, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss 
below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the 
affairs of this Government, whose thoughts should be main- 
ly bent on considering, not how the Union should be best 
preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the 
people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While 
the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects 
spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that 
I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my 
day at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that on 
my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When 
my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun 
in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and 
dishonored fragments of a once glorious union ; on states 
dissevered, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil 
feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their 
last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous 
ensign of the Republic, now known and honored through- 
out the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies 



32 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

Streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or pol- 
luted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no 
such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this icorth 1 
Nor those other words of delusion and folly. Liberty Jirst 
and Union afteriuards ; but every where, spread all over in 
characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as 
they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind 
under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to 
every true American heart — Liberty and Union, now and 
for ever, one and inseparable ! 



OLD WINTER IS COMING. 

BY HUGH MOORE. 

[Born at Amherst, November 19, 1808. Died at Amherst, February 13, 1837. 



Old Winter is coming again — alack ! 

How icy and cold is he ! 
He cares not a pin for a shivering back — 
He 's a saucy old chap to white and black — 
He whistles his chills with a wonderful knack, 

For he comes from a cold countree ! 

A witty old fellow this Winter is — 

A mighty old fellow for glee ! 
He cracks his jokes on the pretty, sweet miss. 
The wrinkled old maiden, unfit to kiss, 
And freezes the dew of their lips : for this 

Is the way with old fellows like he ! 

Old Winter 's a frolicsome blade I wot — • 

He is wild in his humor, and free ! 
He '11 whistle along, for "the want of thought," 
And set all the warmth of our furs at nought, 
And ruffle the laces by pretty girls bought — 

A frolicsome fellow is he ! 

Old Winter is blowing his gusts along, 

And merrily shaking the tree ! 
From morning 'till night he will sing his song — 
Now moaning, and short — now howling, and long. 
His voice is loud — for his lungs are strong — 

A merry old fellow is he ! 

Old Winter 's a tough old fellow for blows. 

As tough as ever you see ! 
He will trip up our trotters^ and rend our clothes. 
And stiffen our limbs from our fingers to toes — 
He minds not the cries of his friends or his foes — 

A tough old fellow is he ! 

A cunning old fellow is Winter, they say, 

A cunning old fellow is he ! 
He peeps in the crevices day by day, 
To see how we 're passing our time away — 
And marks all our doings from grave to gay 

I 'm afraid he is peeping at rae ! 



THE SPARROW'S NEST 



OCCASIONED BY CRUSHING A NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, 



BY ROBERT DINS MOOR. 

[The Rustic Bard, born at Windham, October 7, 1757. Died at Windham, 1S30.] 



Poor innocent and hapless Sparrow ! 

Why should my moul-board gle thee sorrow ? 

This day thou '11 chirp, an' mourn the morrow, 

Wi' anxious breast — 
The plough has turn'd the mould'ring furrow 

Deep o'er thy nest. 

Just in the middle o' the hill, 

Thy nest was plac'd wi' curious skill; 

There I espy'd thy little bill 

Beneath the shade — 
In that sweet bower secure frae ill, 

Thine eggs thou laid. 

Five corns o' maize had there been drappit, 
An' through the stalks thine head thou pappit; 
The drawing nowt could na' be stappit, 

I quickly foun' — 
Syne frae thy cozie nest thou happit, 

An' flutt'ring ran. 

The sklentin stane beguil'd the sheer. 
In vain I tried the plough to steer ; 
A wee bit stumpie i' the rear, 

Cam' 'tween my legs — 
An' to the jee side gart me veer, 

An' crush thine eggs. 

Alas ! alas ! my bonnie birdie ! 

Thy faith fu' mate flits roun' to guard ye, 

Connubial love ! a pattern wordy 

The pious priest ! 
What savage heart could be sae hardy, 

As wound thy breast .'' 

Thy ruin was nae fau't o' mine, 
(It gars me greet to see thee pine ;) 



THESPARROW'SNEST. 35 

It may be serves His great design, 

Who governs all ; 
Omniscience tents \vi' eyes divine, 

The sparrow's fall. 

A pair more friendly ne'er were married, 
Their joys an' pains were equal carried ; 
But now, ah me ! to grief they 're hurried. 

Without remead ; 
When all their hope an' treasure's buried, 

'T is sad indeed. 

How much like theirs are human dools ! 
Their sweet wee bairns laid i' the mools, 
That sovereign Pow'r who nature rules, 

Has said, so be it ; 
But poor blin' mortals are sic' fools, 

They canna' see it. 

Nae doubt, that He wha' first did mate us. 

Has fixt our lot as sure as fate is. 

And when he wounds, he dis na' hate us. 

But only this — 
He '11 gar the ills that here await us, 

Yield lasting bliss. 



THE BIBLE, AS A HUMAN COMPOSITION. 



BY REV. EDWARD PAYSON. 

[Bom at Rindge, July 25, 1783. Died at Portlaud, Me., October 22, 1827.] 



It is notorious that even among such as profess to vene- 
rate the Scriptures, there are not a few, who seem to regard 
them as deficient in those qualities which excite interest and 
attention. It may not be improper, therefore, to make a 
few remarks with a design to show, that, while the Scrip- 
tures are incalculably valuable and important, viewed as a 
revelation from Heaven, they are also in a very high degree 
interesting and deserving of attention, considered merely as 
a human composition. 

Were we permitted to adduce the testimony of the Scrip- 
tures in their own favor, as a proof that their contents are 
highly interesting, our task would be short, and easily ac- 
complished. But it is possible, that to this testimony some 
might think it a sufficient reply, to apostrophize the sacred 
volume in the language of the captious Jews to our Saviour : 
" Thou bearest record of thyself; thy record is not true." 
No similar objection can be urged, however, against avail- 
ing ourselves of the testimony which eminent uninspired 
men have borne in favor of the Scriptures. From the al- 
most innumerable testimonies of this nature, which might 
easily be adduced, we shall select only that of Sir William 
Jones, a judge of the supreme court of judicature in Ben- 
gal : a man, says his learned biographer, who by the exer- 
tion of rare intellectual talents, acquired a knowledge of 
arts, sciences, and languages, which has seldom been 



37 



equalled, and scarcely, if ever, surpassed. " / have care- 
fully and regularly perused the Scrijjtures," says this truly 
great man, " a7id am of opinion that this volume, indepen- 
dent of its divine origin, contains more sublimity, pwer mo- 
rality, more important history, and finer strains of eloquence, 
than can he collected from all other books, in whatever lan- 
guage they may have been zvritten." How well he was 
qualified to make this remark, and how much it implied in 
his lips, may be inferred from the fact, that he was acquaint- 
ed with twenty-eight different languages, and with the best 
works which had been published in most of them. That a 
volume, which, in the opinion of such a man, is thus supe- 
rior to all other books united, cannot be so uninteresting 
and insipid a composition as many seem to imagine, it must 
be needless to remark ; that his commendation of it, though 
great and unqualified, is in no respect unmerited, it would 
be easy, were it necessary, to prove, by appropriate quota- 
tions from the book which he so highly extols. But its mo- 
rality will be more properly considered in a subsequent part 
of this treatise; and its unrivalled eloquence and sublimity 
are too obvious, and too generally acknowledged, to require 
illustration. If any imagine that he has estimated too high- 
ly the historical information which this volume contains, we 
would only request them to peruse it with attention ; and 
particularly to consider the assistance which it affords, in 
accounting for many otherwise inexplicable phenomena in 
the natural, political, and moral world. A person who has 
never attended to the subject, will, on recollection, be sur- 
prised to find for how large a portion of his knowledge he is 
indebted to this neglected book. It is the only book which 
satisfactorily accounts, or even professes to account, for the 
introduction of natural and moral evil into the world, and 
for the consequent present situation of mankind. To this 
book also we are indebted for all our knowledge of the pro- 
genitors of our race, and of the early ages of the world ; for 
our acquaintance with the manners and customs of those 
ages ; for the origin and explanation of many remarkable 
4 



38 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

traditions, which have extensively prevailed ; and for almost 
every thing which is known of many once flourishing na- 
tions, especially of the Jews, the most singular and interest- 
ing people, perhaps, that ever existed. It is the Bible alone^ 
which, by informing us of the Deluge, enables us to account 
satisfactorily for many surprising appearances in the inter- 
nal structure of the earth, as well as for the existence of 
marine exuvise on the summits of mountains, and in other 
places, far distant from the sea. By the same volume we 
are assisted in accounting for the multiplicity of languages 
which exist in the world ; for the degrading condition of the 
Africans ; for the origin and universal prevalence of sacri- 
fices ; and for many other facts of an equally interesting 
nature. We shall only add, that, while the Scriptures throw 
light on the facts here alluded to, the existence of the facts 
powerfully tends, on the other hand, to establish the truth 
and authenticity of the Scriptures. 

In addition to these intrinsic excellences of the Bible, 
which give it, considered merely as a human production, 
powerful claims to the attention of persons of taste and 
learning, there are various circumstances of an adventitious 
nature, which render it peculiarly interesting to a reflecting 
mind. Among these circumstances we may, perhaps not 
improperly, mention its great antiquity. Whatever may be 
said of its inspiration, some of the books which compose it 
are unquestionably the most ancient literary compositions 
extant, and perhaps the most ancient that ever were written ; 
nor is it very improbable, that letters were first employed in 
recording some parts of them, and that they were written in 
the language first spoken by man. It is also not only the 
most ancient book, but the most ancient monument of hu- 
man exertion, the oldest offspring of human intellect, now 
in existence. Unlike the other works of man, it inherits 
not his frailty. All the contemporaries of its infancy have 
loner since perished, and are forgotten ; yet this wonderful 
volume still survives. Like the fabled pillars of Seth, which 
are said to have bid defiance to the Deluge, it has stood for 



THEBIBLE. 39 

ages, unmoved, in the midst of that flood which sweeps away 
men with their labors into oblivion. That these circum- 
stances render it an interesting object of contemplation, it 
is needless to remark. Were there now in existence a tree 
which was planted, an edifice which was erected, or any 
monument of human ingenuity which was formed, at that 
early period in which some parts of the Bible were written, 
would it not be contemplated with the keenest interest ; 
carefully preserved, as a precious relic ; and considered as 
something little less than sacred? With what emotions, 
then, will a thoughtful mind open the Bible ; and what a 
train of interesting reflections is it in this view calculated 
to excite ! While we contemplate its antiquity, exceeding 
that of every object around us, except the works of God ; 
and view it in anticipation, as continuing to exist unaltered 
until the end of time ; must we not feel almost irresistibly 
impelled to venerate it, as proceeding originally from Him, 
who is yesterday, to-day, and forever the same — whose 
works, like his years, fail not 1 

The interest which this volume excites by its antiquity, 
will be greatly increased, if we consider the violent and 
persevering opposition it has encountered, and the almost 
innumerable enemies it has resisted and overcome. We 
contemplate with no ordinary degree of interest, a rock, 
which has braved for centuries the ocean's rage, practically 
saying, " Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther ; and here 
shall thy proud waves be stayed." With still greater inter- 
est, though of a somewhat different kind, should we con- 
template a fortress, which, during thousands of years, had 
been constantly assaulted by successive generations of 
enemies : around whose walls millions had perished ; and 
to overthrow which, the utmost efforts of human force and 
ingenuity had been exerted in vain. Such a rock, such a 
fortress, we contemplate in the Bible. For thousands of 
years this volume has withstood, not only the iron tooth of 
time, which devours men and their works together, but all 
the physical and intellectual strength of man. Pretended 



40 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

friends have endeavored to corrupt and betray it ; kings 
and princes have perseveringly sought to banish it from the 
v\^orld ; the civil and military powers of the greatest em- 
pires have been leagued for its destruction ; the fires of 
persecution have been often lighted, to consume it and its 
friends together ; and, at many seasons, death in some 
horrid form has been the almost certain consequence of 
affording it an asylum from the fury of its enemies. It 
has also been almost incessantly assailed by weapons of a 
different kind, which, to any other book, would be far more 
dangerous than fire or sword. In these assaults, wit and 
ridicule have wasted all their shafts ; misguided Reason has 
been compelled, though reluctantly, to lend her aid, and, 
after repeated defeats, has again been dragged to the field j 
the arsenals of learning have been emptied, to arm her for 
the contest ; and in search of means to prosecute it with 
success, recourse has been had, not only to remote ages and 
distant lands, but even to the bowels of the earth, and the 
region of the stars. Yet still the object of all these attacks 
remains uninjured, while one army of its assailants after 
another has melted away. Though it has been ridiculed 
more bitterly, misrepresented more grossly, opposed more 
rancorously, and burned more frequently, than any other 
book, and perhaps than all other books united ; it is so far 
from sinking under the efforts of its enemies, that the prob- 
ability of its surviving until the final consummation of all 
things is now evidently much greater than ever. The 
rain has descended ; the floods have come ; the storm has 
arisen and beaten upon it ; but it falls not, for it is founded 
upon a rock. Like the burning bush, it has ever been in 
the flames, yet it is still unconsumed ; a sufficient proof, 
was there no other, that He, who dwelt in the bush, pre- 
serves the Bible. 

If the opposition which this volume has successfully en- 
countered, renders it an interesting object of contemplation, 
the veneration which has been paid to it, the use which 
has been made of it, and the benefits which have been de- 



THEBIBLE. 41 

rived from it by the wise and good in all ages, make it still 
more so. Who would not esteem it a most delightful priv- 
ilege, to see and converse with a man who had lived through 
as many centuries as the Bible has existed ; who had con- 
versed with all the successive generations of men, and been 
intimately acquainted with their motives, characters, and 
conduct ; who had been the chosen friend and companion 
of the wise and good in every age — the venerated monitor, 
to whose example and instructions the wise had ascribed 
their wisdom, and the virtuous their virtue? What could 
be more interesting than the sight; what more pleasing 
and instructive, than the society of such a man 1 Yet 
such society we may in effect enjoy, whenever we choose 
to open the Bible. In this volume we see the chosen com- 
panion, the most intimate friend of the prophets, the apos- 
tles, the martyrs, and their pious contemporaries; the guide, 
whose directions they implicitly followed ; the monitor, to 
whose faithful warnings and instructions they ascribed their 
wisdom, their virtues, and their happiness. In this volume 
we see the Book, in which the deliverer, the king, the 
sweet Psalmist of Israel delighted to meditate day and night: 
whose counsels made him wiser than all his teachers ; and 
which he describes, as sweeter than honey, and more pre- 
cious than gold. This too is the book, for the sake of 
which many a persecuted believer has forsaken his native 
land and taken up his dwelling in the wilderness ; bringing 
it with him as his most valuable treasure, and at death 
bequeathing it to his posterity as the richest bequest in his 
power to make. From this source, millions now in heaven 
have derived the strongest and purest consolation ; and 
scarcely can we fix our attention on a single passage in 
this wonderful book, which has not afforded comfort or 
instruction to thousands, and been wet with tears of peni- 
tential sorrow or grateful joy, drawn from eyes that will 
weep no more. There is probably not an individual in this 
christian land, some of whose ancestors did not, while on 
earth, prize this volume more than life ; and breathe many 
4* 



42 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

fervent prayers to Heaven, that all their descendants, to the 
latest generation, might be induced to prize it in a similar 
manner. Thousands too have sealed their belief of its 
truth with their blood ; rejoicing to shed it in defence of a 
book which, while it led them to the stake, enabled them 
to triumph over its tortures. Nor have its effects been con- 
fined to individuals. Nations have participated largely in 
its benefits. Armed with this volume, which is at once 
sword and shield, the first heralds of Christianity went forth 
conquering and to conquer. No less powerful than the 
wonder-working rod of Moses, its touch crumbled into dust 
the temples of paganism, and overthrew, as in a moment, 
the immense fabric of superstition and idolatry which had 
been for ages erecting. To this volume alone it is owing, 
that we do not assemble on our appointed days to offer our 
worship in the temple of an idol ; that stocks and stones 
are not our deities ; that cruelty, intemperance, and impurity 
do not constitute our religion ; and that our children are not 
burnt as sacrifices at the shrine of Moloch. To this volume 
we are also indebted for the reformation in the days of Lu- 
ther : for the consequent revival and progress of learning; and 
for our present freedom from papal tyranny. Nor are these 
benefits, great as they are, all which it has been the means 
of conferring on man. Wherever it comes, blessings follow 
in its train. Like the stream which diff'uses itself, and is 
apparently lost among the herbage, it betrays its course by 
its effects. Wherever its influence is felt, temperance, in- 
dustry, and contentment prevail ; natural and moral evils 
are banished, or mitigated ; and churches, hospitals, and 
asylums for almost every species of wretchedness arise, to 
adorn the landscape, and cheer the eye of benevolence. 
Such are the temporal benefits which even infidelity itself, 
if it would for once be candid, must acknowledge that the 
Bible has bestowed on man. Almost coeval with the sun, 
its fittest emblem, it has, like that luminary, from the com- 
mencement of its existence, shed an unceasing flood of 
light on a benighted and wretched world. Who then can 



THE BIBLE 



43 



doubt that He, who formed the sun, gave the Bible to be 
"alight unto our feet, and a lamp to our path?" Who, 
that contemplates this fountain, still full and overflowing, 
notwithstanding the millions that have drunk of its waters, 
can doubt that it has a real though invisible connexion 
with that river of life, which flows for ever at the right hand 
of God? 



THE LIGHT OF HOME. 



BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE. 



My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, 

And thy spirit will sigh to roam. 
And thou must go ; — but never when there 

Forget the light of home. 

Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, 

It dazzles to lead astray ; 
Like the meteor's flash it will deepen the night, 

When thou treadest the lonely way. 

But the hearth of home has a constant flame, 

And pure as the vestal fire ; 
'T will burn, 't will burn, forever the same. 

For nature feeds the pyre. 

The sea of ambition is tempest-tost. 
And thy hopes may vanish like foam , 

But when sails are shivered and rudder lost, 
Then look to the light of home. 

And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, 

Thou shalt see the beacon bright, 
For never, till shining on thy shroud, 

Can be quench'd its holy light. 

The sun of fame, 't will gild the name, 

But the heart ne'er feels its ray ; 
And fashion's smiles that rich ones claim. 

Are like beams of a wintry day. 

And how cold and dim those beams would be, 
Should life's wretched wanderer come : 

But my boy, when the world is dark to thee. 
Then turn to the light of home. 



THE ROYAL PENITENT. 



2 SAMUEL, CHAPTER XII. 



BY SARAH PORTER. 

[1791.] 



Death's angel now, commission'd by the Lord, 
O'er the fond infant holds the fatal sword ; 
From the dread sight the frantic father turns, 
And, clad in sackcloth, in his chamber mourns ; 
The monitor, within the royal breast. 
That long had slept, now roused at length from rest. 
Holds forth a mirror to the aching sight, 
Seizes the mind that fain would take its flight, 
Bids it look in : — and first, Uriah stood, 
Arm'd for the fight, as yet unstain'd with blood ; 
Courage and care were on his brow combined, 
To show the hero and the patriot join'd : 
Next, pale and lifeless, on his warlike shield, 
The soldiers bore him from the bloody field. 
" And is it thus ? " the Royal mourner said, 
"And has my hand perform'd the dreadful deed ? 
Was I the wretch that gave thee to the foe, 
And bade thee sink beneath the impending blow ? 
Bade every friend and hero leave thy side ? 
Open, O earth ! and in thy bosom hide 
A guilty wretch who wishes not to live ; 
Who cannot, dares not, ask for a reprieve ; 
So black a crime just Heaven will not forgive ! 
Justice arrests thy coming mercy. Lord ; 
Strike then, O strike, unsheath thy dreadful sword : 
Accursed forever be the hated day, 
That led my soul from innocence astray ; 
O may the stars, on that detested hour. 
Shed all their influence with malignant power, 
Darkness and sorrows jointly hold their reign, 
When time, revolving, brings it round again. 
Unhappy man ! — ah ! whither shall I turn ? 
Like Cain, accurst, must I forever mourn ? 
On beds of silk in vain I seek repose, 
Uriah's shade forbids my eyes to close ; 
No bars exclude him — to no place confined, 
Eager he still pursues my flying mind : 



46 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



Not all the crowd that bow at my approach, 
Nor guards that thicken round the gilded couch, 
Can with their arms, or martial air, aftright, 
Or drive the phantom from my wearied sight. 

happy day ! when, blest with Eglah's charms, 

1 woo'd no other beauty to my arms ; 

No court's licentious joys did then molest 

My peaceful mind, nor haunt my tranquil breast. 

A glitt'ring crown ! thou poor, fantastic thing ! 

What solid satisfaction canst thou bring ? 

Once, far removed from all the toils of state, 

In groves I slept — no guards around me wait: 

Oh ! how delicious was the calm retreat ! 

Sweet groves ! with birds and various flowers stored. 

Where nature furnished out my frugal board ; 

The pure, unstained spring, my thirst allayed ; 

No poisoned draught, in golden cups conveyed. 

Was there to dread — Return, ye happy hours. 

Ye verdant shades, kind nature's pleasing bowers, 

Inglorious solitude, again return. 

And heal the breast with pain and anguish torn. 

God ! let thy mercy, like the solar ray, 
Break forth and drive these dismal clouds away ; 
Oh ! send its kind enlivening warmth on one 
Who sinks, who dies, beneath thy dreadful frown : 
Thus fares the wretch at sea, by tempests tost, 
Sands, hurricanes, and rocks, proclaim him lost ; 
With eager eyes he views the peaceful shore, 
And longs to rest where billows cease to roar : 
Of wanton winds and waves I've been the sport, 
Oh ! when shall I attain the wished-for port ? 
Or might I bear the punishment alone, 
Nor hear the lovely infant's piteous moan; 
My sins upon the dying child impressed. 
The dreadful thought forbids my soul to rest. 
In mercy. Lord, thy humble suppliant hear. 
Oh ! give the darling to my ardent prayer ! 
Cleanse me from sin — oh ! graciously forgive; 
Blest with thy love, oh ! let thy servant live : 
Thy smiles withdrawn, what is the world to me ? 
My hopes, my joys, are placed alone on thee : 
Oh ! let thy love, to this desponding heart, 
One ray, at least, of heavenly love impart." 



AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE, 



BY REV. JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER. 

[Born at Portsmouth, May 26, 1784. Died at Boston, June 9, 1812. 

No situation in life is so favorable to established habits 
of virtue, and to powerful sentiments of devotion, as a resi- 
dence in the country, and rural occupations. I am not 
speaking of a condition of peasantry of which in this 
country we know little, who are mere vassals of an absent 
lord, or the hired laborers of an iritendant, and who are, 
therefore, interested in nothing but the regular receipt of 
their daily wages ; but I refer to the honorable character 
of an owner of the soil, whose comforts, whose weight in 
the community, and whose very existence depend upon his 
personal labors, and the regular returns of abundance from 
the soil which he cultivates. No man, one would think, 
would feel so sensibly his immediate dependence upon God, 
as the husbandman. For all his peculiar blessings, he is 
invited to look immediately to the bounty of Heaven. No 
secondary cause stands between him and his Maker. To 
him are essential the regular succession of the seasons, 
and the timely fall of the rain, the genial warmth of the 
sun, the sure productiveness of the soil, and the certain 
operations of those laws of nature, which must appear to 
him nothing less than the varied exertions of omnipresent 
energy. In the country, we seem to stand in the midst of 
the great theatre of God's power, and we feel an unusual 
proximity to our Creator. His blue and tranquil sky spreads 
itself over our heads, and we acknowledge the intrusion of 



48 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

no secondary agent in unfolding this vast expanse. Nothing 
but omnipotence can work up the dark horrors of the tem- 
pest, dart the flashes of the lightning, and roll the long-re- 
sounding rumor of the thunder. The breeze wafts to his 
senses the odors of God's beneficence; the voice of God's 
power is heard in the rustling of the forest ; and the varied 
forms of life, activity, and pleasure, which he observes at 
every step in the fields, lead him irresistibly ,one would 
think, to the source of being and beauty and joy. How 
auspicious such a life to the noble sentiments of devotion ! 
Besides, the situation of the husbandman is peculiarly fa- 
vorable, it should seem, to purity and simplicity of moral 
sentiment. He is brought acquainted, chiefly, with the 
real and native wants of mankind. Employed solely in 
bringing food out of the earth, he is not liable to be fasci- 
nated with the fictitious pleasures, the unnatural wants, the 
fashionable follies and tyrannical vices of more busy and 
splendid life. 

Still more favorable to the religious character of the 
husbandman is the circumstance, that, from the nature of 
agricultural pursuits, they do not so completely engross the 
attention as other occupations. They leave much time for 
contemplation, for reading, and intellectual pleasures; and 
these are peculiarly grateful to the resident in the country. 
Especially does the institution of the Sabbath discover all 
its value to the tiller of the earth, whose fatigue it solaces, 
whose hard labors it interrupts, and who feels on that 
day the worth of his moral nature, which cannot be under- 
stood by the busy man, who considers the repose of this 
day as interfering with his hopes of gain, or professional 
employments. If, then, this institution is of any moral and 
religious value, it is to the country we must look for the 
continuance of that respect and observance which it merits. 
My friends, those of you especially who retire annually 
into the country, let these periodical retreats from business 
or dissipation bring you nearer to your God; let them re- 
store the clearaess of your judgment on the objects of hu- 



AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE, 49 

man pursuits, invigorate your moral perceptions, exalt your 
sentiments, and regulate your habits of devotion ; and if 
there be any virtue or simplicity remaining in rural life, let 
them never be impaired by the influence of your presence 
and example. 

After what we have now said upon the virtuous and de- 
votional tendency of a country life, it may, perhaps, be con- 
sidered as inconsistent, or even paradoxical, to place our 
commercial character among our moral, much less our re- 
ligious advantages. But let it be considered, whatever be 
the influence of traffic upon the personal worth of some of 
those who are engaged in it, its intrinsic value to the com- 
munity, and its kind influence upon certain parts of the 
moral character are not to be disputed. Hence I do not 
scruple to state it as one of our great national distinctions, 
which call for our grateful acknowledgments. Tell me not 
of Tyre, and Sidon, and Corinth, and Carthage. I know 
they were commercial, and corrupt. But let it be remem- 
bered, that they flourished long before the true principles 
of honorable trade were understood ; before the introduction 
of Christianity had given any stability to those virtues of 
conscientious integrity, and strict fidelity in trusts, which 
are now indispensable to commercial prosperity. They 
have passed away, it is true ; and so has Sparta, where no 
commerce was allowed ; and Judea, though mostly agricul- 
tural, is known no more, except for its national ingratitude 
and corruption. Besides, when the choice of a nation lies, 
as, from the present state of the world, it appears long des- 
tined to lie, between a commercial and a military character, 
surely there can be little hesitation about the comparative 
influence of the peaceful activity of trade, though it may 
tend to enervate some of the energies of the human charac- 
ter, and that deplorable activity of a mere warlike nation, 
where plunder is the ruling passion of the great, and de- 
struction, the trade of the small ; where every new conquest 
tends only to concentrate, in still fewer hands, the wealth 
of kingdoms, and to inspire the common people with an un- 



50 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

distinguishing ferocity. Surely, we cannot hesitate, whether 
to prefer that warlike state of a nation, which poisons at 
once the sources and security of domestic happiness — a 
state, in which the lives, as well as the virtues of mankind, 
sink into objects of insignificant importance — or that com- 
mercial situation of a people, which rouses and developes 
all the powers of all classes of the population, which gives a 
perpetual spring to industry, and which, by showing every 
man, how completely he is dependent upon every other 
man, makes it his interest to promote the prosperity, to con- 
sult the happiness, and to maintain the peace, the health, 
and the security of the millions, with whom he is connected. 
Surely, that state of a people cannot be unfavorable to 
virtue, which provides such facilities of intellectual commu- 
nication between the remotest regions, so that not a bright 
idea can spring up in the brain of a foreign philosopher, 
but it darts, like lightning, across the Atlantic ; not an im- 
provement obtains in the condition of one society, but it is 
instantly propagated to every other. By this perpetual in- 
terchange of thought, and this active diffusion of under- 
standing, the most favorable opportunities are afforded for 
the dissemination of useful knowledge, especially for the 
extension of that most precious of gifts, the gospel of Jesus. 
I need not add, that the v/ide intercourse, we are keeping 
up with foreign nations, ought to enlarge the sphere of our 
intelligence, liberalize our sentiments of mankind, polish 
the manners of the community, and introduce courteousness 
and urbanity of deportment. Merchants! if I may be per- 
mitted to suggest to you any considerations on the value of 
your order to the community, I would say, that upon your 
personal character depends much of these favorable influen- 
ces of commerce. I would beg you to beware of an engros- 
sing love of profit, which invariably narrows the capacity, 
and debases the noblest tendencies of the human character. 
I would persuade you to cultivate habits of mental activity, 
to indulge enlarged views of your connexion with mankind, 
to consider yourselves as forming part of the vast chain of 



AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE. 51 

mutual supports and dependencies, by which the activity, 
the improvement and the pleasure of the inhabitants of every 
part of the world are secured and promoted. Above all, 
forget not, that you are instruments in the hands of Provi- 
dence, by which he diffuses his blessings, and promotes 
his grand purposes in the cultivation, the civilization, and 
thus the moral and religious advancement, of this wide 
creation. God grant, that you may never feel the remorse 
of having deliberately contributed to the introduction of a 
new vice into the community, or to the corruption of an old 
or established principle ; of having aided the tyranny of a 
worthless fashion, or assisted the gradual encroachments of 
selfishness, vanity, pomp, and slavish imitation, on the free- 
dom and dignity of social life ! 



TRIBUTE TO MY NATIVE STREAM. 



BY NATHANIEL H. CARTER. 

[Born at Concord, 1788. Died at Marseilles, France, January 2, 1830.] 



Hail ! hail again my native stream, 
Scene of my boyhood's earliest dream 1 
With solitary step once more 
I tread thy wild and silvan shore, 
And pause at every turn and gaze 
Upon thy dark meandering maze. 
What though obscure thy woody source, 
What thovigh unsung thy humble course, 
What if no lofty classic name 
Give to thy peaceful waters fame ; 
Still can thy rural haunts impart 
A solace to this saddened heart. 

Since last with thee I parted, Time 

Has borne me on through many a clime, 

Far from my native roof that stood 

Secluded by thy murmuring flood ; 

And 1 in distant lands have roamed, 

Where rolled new streams, new oceans foamed. 

Along the Shannon, Doon, and Tay, 

I 've sauntered many a happy day, 

And sought beside the Cam and Thames, 

Memorials of immortal names; 

Or mingled in the polished train 

Of fashion, on the banks of Seine. 

And I have seen the azure Rhone 

Rush headlong from his Alpine throne; 

Green Mincius and the silver Po 

Through vine-clad vales meandering flow ; 

Sweet Arno wreath'd in summer flowers, 

Linger amidst Etrurian bowers ; 

And the swoln Tiber's yellow tide 

Roll to the sea in sullen pride. 

In climes beneath the burning zone, 
Mid tangled forests, deep and lone, 
Where fervid skies forever glow. 
And the soft trade-winds whispering blow. 



TRIBUTE TO MY NATIVE STREAM. 53 



My roving footsteps too have press'd 
The lovehest island of the West. 
There Yumuri winds deep and calm, 
Through groves of citron and of palm ; 
And on the sluggish wave of Juan,* 
My little boat hath borne me on. 
Or up Canimar's silent floods, 
Stro wn with the blossoms of its woods. t 

Yet not the less, my native stream, 
Art thou to me a grateful theme. 
Than when in heedless boyhood's prime 
I wove for thee the rustic rhyme, 
Ere other realms, beyond the sea. 
Had spread their fairest charms for me. 
E'en now, alone I sit me down 
Amidst thy woods, with autumn brown, 
And on the riastling leaves recline. 
Beneath a copse of whispering pine, 
To watch thy amber current run. 
Bright with November's parting sun. 
Around, with eager eye I trace 
The charms of each remembered place ; 
Some fountain gushing from the bank, 
At which, in youth, I knelt and drank; 
Yon oak its hoary arms that rears, 
Scene of my sports in boyish years. 

Farewell ! farewell ! though I no more 
May ramble on thy rural shore, 
Still shall thy quiet wave glide on 
When he who watched its flow is gone. 
And his sole epitaph shall be 
Inscribed upon some aged tree. 

•This word is pronounced in Spanish as if written Whon. 

tThe author in rowing up the river Canimar, near Matanzas, in Januarj', 1828, found its current cover- 
ed with the blossoms of forest trees growing upon its banks. 



5* 



MONADNOCK. 



BY WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. 



Upon the far-off mountain's brow 

The angry storm has ceased to beat, 
And broken clouds are gathering now, 

In lowly reverence round his feet. 
I saw their dark and crowded banks 

On his firm head in wrath descending, 
But there once more redeemed he stands, 

And heaven's clear arch is o'er him bending. 

I''ve seen him when the rising sun 

Shone like a watch-fire on the height, 
I 've seen him when the day was done, 

Bathed in the evening's crimson light ; 
I 've seen him in the midnight hour, 

When all around were calmly sleeping. 
Like some lone sentry in his tower. 

His patient watch in silence keeping. 

And there, as ever, steep and clear. 

That pyramid of Nature springs ! 
He owns no rival turret near, 

No sovereign, but the King of kings. 
While many a nation hath passed by. 

And many an age, unknown in story, 
His walls and battlements on high 

He rears, in melancholy glory. 

And let a world of human pride. 

With all its grandeur, melt away, 
And spread around his rocky side 

The broken fragments of decay. 
Serene his hoary head will tower. 

Untroubled by one thought of sorrow ; 
He numbers not the weary hour. 

He welcomes not nor fears to-morrow. 

Farewell ! I go my distant way ; 

Perhaps not far in future years, 
The eyes that glow with smiles to-day. 

May gaze upon thee, dim with tears. 



MONADNOCK. 55 

Then let me learn from thee to rise, 

All time and chance and change defying; 

Still pointing upward to the skies, 
And on the inward strength relying. 

If life before rny weary eye 

Grows fearful as the angry sea, 
Thy memory shall suppress the sigh 

For that which never more can be. 
Inspiring all within the heart 

With firm resolve and strong endeavor, 
To act a brave and faithful part, 

Till life's short warfare ends for ever. 



SOLEMN REVIEW OF WAR. 



BY REV. NOAH WORCESTER, D 

[Born at HoUis, 1759. Died at Brighton, Mass., 1837.] 



We regard with horror the custom of the ancient hea- 
thens, in offering their children in sacrifice to idols. We 
are shocked with the customs of the Hindoos, in prostrating 
themselves before tlie car of an idol to be crushed to death ; 
in burning women alive on the funeral piles of their hus- 
bands; in offering a monthly sacrifice, by casting living 
children into the Ganges to be drowned. We read with 
astonishment of the sacrifices made in the Papal crusades, 
and in the Mahometan and Hindoo pilgrimages. We won- 
der at the blindness of christian nations, who have esteem- 
ed it right and honorable to buy and sell Africans as proper- 
ty, and reduce them to bondage for life. But that which is 
fashionable and popular in any country is esteemed right 
and honorable, whatever may be its nature in the views of 
men better informed. 

But while we look back with a mixture of wonder, indig- 
nation, and pity on many of the customs of former ages, are 
we careful to inquire whether some customs which we deem 
honorable, are not the effect of popular delusion ? and wheth- 
er they will not be so regarded by future generations ? Is it 
not a fact, that one of the most horrid customs of savage 
men, is now popular in every nation in Christendom ? What 
custom of the most barbarous nations is more repugnant to 
the feelings of piety, humanity and justice, than that of de- 
ciding controversies between nations by the edge of the 
sword, by powder and ball, or the point of the bayonet ? 
What other savage custom has occasioned half the desola- 



SOLEMN REVIEW OF WAR. 57 

tion and misery to the human race ? And what, but the 
grossest infatuation, could render such a custom popular 
among rational beings 1 

When we consider how great a part of mankind have 
perished by the hands of each other, and how large a por- 
tion of human calamity has resulted from war, it surely can- 
not appear indifferent whether this custom is or is not the 
effect of delusion. Certainly there is no custom which de- 
serves a more thorough examination, than that which has 
occasioned more slaughter and misery than all the other 
abominable customs of the heathen world. 

War has been so long fashionable amongst all nations, 
that its enormity is but little regarded ; or when thought of 
at all, it is usually considered as an evil necessary and un- 
avoidable. But the question to be considered is this : can- 
not the state of society and the views of civilized men be so 
changed as to abolish so barbarous a custom, and render 
wars unnecessary and avoidable ? 

If this question may be answered in the affirmative, then 
we may hope that ''the sword will not devour for ever." 

Some may be ready to exclaim, " None but God can pro- 
duce such an effect as the abolition of war, and we must 
wait for the millennial day." We admit that God only can 
produce the necessary change in the state of society, and 
the views of men ; but God works by human agency and 
human means. None but God could have produced such a 
change in the views of the British nation, as to abolish the 
slave trade ; yet the event was brought about by a long 
course of persevering and honorable exertions of benevolent 
men. 

When the thing was first proposed, it probably appeared 
to the majority of the people, as an unavailing and chimeri- 
cal project. But God raised up powerful advocates, gave 
them the spirit of perseverance, and finally crowned their 
efforts with glorious success. Now, it is probable, thou- 
sands of people are wondering how such an abominable 
traffic ever had existence in a nation which had the least 



58 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

pretensions to Christianity or civilization. In a similar 
manner God can put an end to war, and fill the world with 
astonishment, that rational beings ever thought of such a 
mode of settling controversies. 

As to waiting for the millennium to put an end to war, 
without any exertions on our own part, it is like the sinner's 
waiting God's time for conversion, while he pursues his 
course of vice and impiety. If ever there shall be a millen- 
nium, in which the sword will cease to devour, it will prob- 
ably be effected by the blessing of God on the benevolent 
exertions of enlightened men. Perhaps no one thing is 
now a greater obstacle in the way of the wished-for state of 
the church, than the spirit and custom of war which is 
maintained by christians themselves. Is it not then time 
that efforts should be made to enlighten the minds of chris- 
tians on a subject of such infinite importance to the happi- 
ness of the human race ? 

That such a state of things is desirable, no enlightened 
christian can deny. That it can be produced without ex- 
pensive and persevering efforts is not imagined. But are 
not such efforts to exclude the miseries of war from the 
world as laudable as those which have for their object the 
support of such a malignant and desolating custom ? 

The whole amount of property in the United States is 
probably of far less value than what has been expended and 
destroyed within two centuries by wars in Christendom. 
Suppose then, that one fifth of this amount had been judi- 
ciously laid out by peace associations in the different states 
and nations, in cultivating the spirit and art of peace, and 
in exciting a just abhorrence of war ; would not the other 
four fifths have been in a great measure saved, besides many 
millions of lives, and an immense portion of misery ? Had 
the whole value of what has been expended in wars, been 
appropriated to the purpose of peace, how laudable would 
have been the appropriation and how blessed the conse- 
quences ! 

It will perhaps be pleaded, that mankind are not yet suf- 



SOLEMN REVIEW OF WAR. 59 

ficiently enlightened to apply the principles of the gospel for 
the abolition of war ; and that we must wait for a more im- 
proved state of society. Improved in what 1 in the science 
of blood ? Are such improvements to prepare the way for 
peace ? Why not wait a few centuries, until the natives of 
India become more improved in their idolatrous customs, 
before we attempt to convert them to Christianity ? Do we 
expect that by continuing in the practice of idolatry, their 
minds will be prepared to receive the gospel ? If not, let 
us be consistent, and while we use means for the conversion 
of heathens, let means also be used for the conversion of 
christians. For war is in fact a heathenish and savage cus- 
tom of the most malignant, most desolating, and most hor- 
rible character. It is the greatest curse, and results from 
the grossest delusions, that ever afflicted a guilty world. 



THE LYRE. 



BY MILTON WA R D. 



There was a Lyre, 't is said, that hung 

High waving in the summer air ; 
An angel hand its chords had strung, 

And left to breathe its music there. 
Each wandering breeze, that o'er it flew, 

Awoke a wilder, sweeter strain. 
Than ever shell of mermaid blew 

In coral grottoes of the main. 
When, springing from the rose's bell. 

Where all night he had sweetly slept, 
The zephyr left the flowery dell 

Bright with the tears that morning wept, 
He rose, and o'er the trembling lyre, 

Waved lightly his soft azure wing ; 
What touch such music could inspire ! 

What harp such lays of joy could sing ! 
The murmurs of the shaded rills. 

The birds, that sweetly warbled by, 
And the soft echo from the hills. 

Were heard not where that harp was nigh. 
When the last light of fading day 

Along the bosom of the west, 
In colors softly mingled lay 

While night had darken 'd all the rest. 
Then, softer than that fading light. 

And sweeter than the lay, that rung 
Wild through the silence of the night, 

As solemn Pliilomela sung. 
That harp its plaintive murmurs sighed 

Along the dewy breeze of even ; 
So clear and soft they swelled and died, 

They seemed the echoed songs of heaven. 
Sometimes, when all the air was still. 

And not the poplar's foliage trembled, 
That harp was nightly heard to thrill 

With tones, no earthly tones resembled. 
And then, upon the moon's pale beams. 

Unearthly forms were seen to stray. 
Whose starry pinions' trembling gleams 

Would oft around the wild harp play. 



THELYRE. 61 



J3ut soon the bloom of summer fled, 

In earth and air it shone no more ; 
Each flower and leaf fell pale and dead, 

While skies their wintry sternness wore. 
One day, loud blew the northern blast, 

The tempest's fury raged along; 
Oh ! for some angel, as they passed, 

To shield the harp of heavenly song ! 
It shrieked — how could it bear the touch, 

The cold rude touch of such a storm, 
When e'en the zephyr seemed too much 

Sometimes, though always light and warm ! 
It loudly shrieked — but ah ! in vain ; 

The savage wind more fiercely blew ; 
Once more — it never shrieked again, 

For every chord was torn in two. 
It never thrilled with anguish more, 

Though beaten by the wildest blast ; 
The pang, that thus its bosom tore. 

Was dreadful— but it was the last. 
And though the smiles of summer played 

Gently upon its shattered form, 
And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed, 

That Lyre they could not wake or Avarm. 



SONG OF THE HUSBANDMAN 



BY MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS 

[Bam at Plainfield, 1807v Died at Flainfield, June 16, 1841.] 



New-England's soil, our happy home, 

The land of hardy worth, 
Where plenty crowns the social board, 

And love lights up the hearth ; 
The land of rock, and mount, and glen, 

Of noble streams that sweep. 
Through valleys rich with verdure. 

In gladness to the deep ; — 
Blue are the arching skies above, 

And green the fields below. 
And autumn fruits and summer flowers 

In wild profusion grow. 

The towering oak and ancient pine 

Our noble forests bear ; 
The maple bough its blossoms 

Flings on the scented air ; 
And flock and herd and waving grain 

Each slope and upland crown ; 
And autunm winds from laden bough 

The mellow fruits shake down ; 
The fragrant clover tempts the bee, 

Its blushing sweets to pry. 
And in tall ranks the glossy maize 

Points upward to the sky. 

No tyrant landlord wrings our soil. 

Or rends its fruit away ; 
The flocks upon our own green hills. 

Secure from plunder stray ; 
No bigot's scourge or martyr's fires 

A barbarous creed fulfil, 
For the spirit of our stern old sires 

Is with their children still. 
And pure to heaven our altars rise. 

Upon a bloodless sod. 
Where man with free unfettered faith 

Bows down and worships God. 



SONG OF THE HUSBANDMAN. 63 



No midnight revel wastes our strength, 

Or prints our brows with care ; 
We shun the noisy wassail, 

The serpents coiling there ; 
But childhood's ringing tones of mirth, 

And love's refined caress, 
With the pure page of knowledge. 

Our peaceful evenings bless. 
And underneath our pillow 

There 's a spell for slumber's hour. 
And for the sons of toil alone 

That magic spell hath power. 

Our homes ! our dear New-England homes 

Where sweet affections meet ; 
Where the cool poplar spreads its shade. 

And flowers our senses greet ; 
The lily rears her polished cup. 

The rose as freshly springs. 
And to the sky looks gaily up, 

As in the courts of kings ; 
And the vine that climbs the window. 

Hangs drooping from above, 
And sends its grateful odors in 

With messages of love. 

Then hail to thee ! New England ! 

Thou cherished land of ours ; 
Our sons are like the granite rocks. 

Our daughters like the flowers. 
We quail to none, of none we crave, 

Nor bend the servile knee ; 
The life-blood that our fathers gave. 

Still warms the firm and free. 
Free as our eagle spreads his wings, 

We own no tyrant's rod. 
No master but the King of kings, 

No monarch but our God ! 



AUTUMN, 



BY NATHANIEL A. HAVEN. 



I LOVE the dews of night, 

1 love the howling wind ; 
I love to hear the tempests sweep 

'er the billows of the deep ! 

For nature's saddest scenes delight 
The melancholy mind. 

Autumn ! I love thy bower, 

With faded garlands drest ; 
How sweet, alone to linger there 
When tempests ride the midnight air ! 

To snatch from mirth a fleeting hour, 
The sabbath of the breast ! 

Autumn ! I love thee well ; 

Though bleak thy breezes blow ; 

1 love to see the vapors rise, 

And clouds roll wildly round the skies. 

Where from the plain the mountains swell, 
And foaming torrents flow. 

Autumn ! thy fading flowers 

Droop but to bloom again ; 
So man, though doomed to grief awhile, 
To hang on Fortune's fickle smile. 

Shall glow in heaven with nobler powers, 
Nor sigh for peace in vain. 



SKETCH or CHIEF JUSTICE RICHARDSON. 

BY JOEL PARKER, LL. D. 

How often, apparently, is the world indebted to accident 
for the benefits received from some of the most distinguish- 
ed men ! The casting of a book in the way of slumbering 
intellect incites it to overcome all obstacles in the pursuit 
of knowledge. A beautiful harangue or a successful argu- 
ment is sometimes the spark that lights the flame of ambi- 
tion in the breast of one before destined to other pursuits, 
and he burns with the desire of emulation, and strikes out 
for himself a more brilliant, if not a more happy career. 
Accidental injuries in the workshop and in the field, inca- 
pacitating the party, for a greater or less period, from man- 
ual labor, have given to science some of her most persever- 
ing and successful votaries. 

" We call it chance — but there is a Divinity 
That shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will." 

An instance is before us. William Merchant Rich- 
ardson was born at Pelham, in this State, January 4, 1774, 
and labored upon his father's farm until he was about fifteen 
years of age, when an injury to his hand for a time inca- 
pacitated him for active exertions. During the period of 
leisure thus forced upon him, he indulged a taste for study, 
and determined to procure for himself a collegiate educa- 
tion. This he accomplished, and graduated at Cambridge 
University in 1797. 

In the course of his collegiate studies, and during the 
time he officiated as an instructer, he became thoroughly 
imbued with a taste for poetry, and classical and general 
6* 



'66 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

literature, as is in some degree indicated by his appointment 
to deliver a poem upon the occasion of his graduation ; and 
his love for such studies and pursuits continued unabated 
to the close of his life. 

The law is generally accounted a stern mistress, requir- 
ing of her followers an untiring devotion at her shrine, and 
it is rare that her servants find leisure for eminence in any 
other pursuit ; but with him literary acquisition was pas- 
time — was recreation ; and long after he had taken his 
seat upon the bench he studied the French, Italian and 
Spanish languages without assistance, and could read the 
two former with considerable facility. The work of some 
Italian poet was often his companion upon the circuit, and 
was perused with the eagerness of youthful ardor. With 
the Latin classics he was familiar, and read them often ; 
and he urged upon others the importance of recurring to 
their classical studies, as the best means of acquiring and 
preserving a pure taste and a good style. 

But it was not to foreign authors alone that he was at- 
tached. The study of the English classics was a favorite 
pursuit. The grave disquisitions of Milton, the sound phi- 
losophy of Bacon, and the varied richness of Shakspeare, 
furnished materials upon which he delighted to dwell. Nor 
was the lighter literature of the day proscribed. Works 
abounding with anecdote and humor afforded favorite sour- 
ces of relaxation amid the fatigues of abstruse investigation. 

Studies and amusements of this character, however, were 
not permitted to interfere with professional labors and offi- 
cial duties. 

The study and practice and administration of the law 
was the great business of his life ; and to this he brought 
all the energies of a vigorous mind. He loved it as a sci- 
ence, and pursued it with delight as well as with diligence. 

A life of professional labor furnishes but few occurrences 
which to the great mass of the people would seem worthy 
of record. There are no startling events to excite wonder. 
There is nothing of '' pomp and circumstance " to attract 



SKETCH OF JUDGE RICHARDSON. 67 

admiration. But if, on the one hand, there are no " passa- 
ges of arms " to be celebrated and no victories to be sung, 
on the other the trophies are not stained with blood, and 
the notes of wailing and wo mingle not in the chorus. 

The qualities required for successful exertion in the 
learned professions may perhaps not be inferior to those 
which enable their possessor to set a squadron in the field, 
or to direct the array of a battle ; and Chief Justice Rich- 
ardson exhibited them in a high degree of perfection. To 
an unspotted integrity and conscientious faithfulness was 
added great patience — a most important qualification for 
such a station ; and a long administration attested that he 
possessed it in a remarkable degree. Urbane towards the 
gentlemen of the bar, courteous to witnesses, and extending 
to litigants an impartiality which often left in doubt his 
opinion upon contested questions of fact ; a suspicion of 
attempted fraud, or probability of injustice, roused him to 
take a decided stand in favor of that side which appeared 
in danger of sufferingr wrong ; and while cautious to im- 
press upon a jury the principle that fraud and bad faith were 
not to be presumed, the tones of indignation with which he 
denounced them were the consequence of a deep love of 
justice, and desire that the right should prevail. But while 
he was thus firm in resisting whatever seemed to savor of 
injustice, the individual arraigned as a criminal was usually 
a subject of compassion, and his administration of that 
branch of judicature was based upon the humane principle, 
that it is better that many guilty should escape than that 
one innocent person should suffer. 

Notwithstanding all the divisions of parties and sects, he 
commanded general confidence, and his judicial character 
was summed up in a single short sentence, by a highly re- 
spectable citizen, when he exclaimed, after musing upon 
the intelligence of his death — " Well, the good old Judge 
has gone! " 

How full of eulogy are these few words ! His had been 
a long judicial life. He had held the office of chief justice 



68 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

nearly twenty-two years. He had lived to witness nearly 
two entire changes of all his associates, and he was also ap- 
proaching that period — ''three score years and ten" — 
which almost marks the limit of human activity, and with 
us absolutely terminates judicial labor. He might well be 
spoken of in connexion with the lapse of time. He was 
aged in the public service. And after such a period of de- 
votion to the labors of a judicial station — after exerting the 
best energies of the meridian of existence in the service of 
his fellow men — when he is at last called upon to surrender 
up the trust committed to him on earth, what could any in- 
cumbent of the bench desire from those he leaves behind, 
more than the character of " the good judge ? " How much 
is included in it ! Learning, integrity, impartiality, firm- 
ness, industry, faithfulness, patience — these are all neces- 
sary to the character of the good judge. Nay, what is not 
necessary — what is not included in it 1 " Well done, good 
and faithful servant." There needs nothing more of com- 
mendation. 



HYMN OF PRAISE 



BY CARLOS WILCOX. 

[Born at Newport, October 22, 1794. Died at Hartford, Connecticut, May 29, 1827. 



Great is thy goodness, Father of all life, 
Fount of all joy. Thou high and holy One, 
Whom not thy glorious sanctuary, heaven, 
Can e'er contain ; Spirit invisible, 
Whose omnipresence makes creation smile. 
Great is thy goodness, worthy of all praise 
From all thy works. Then let earth, air, and sea ; 
Nature, with every season in its turn ; 
The firmament, with its revolving fires ; 
And all things living ; join to give thee praise. 
Thou glorious Sun, like thy Original, 
A vital influence to surrounding worlds, 
Forever sending forth, yet always full ; 
And thou, fair Queen of Night, o'er the pure sky, 
Amid thy glittering company of stars. 
Walking in brightness, praise the God above. 
Ocean, forever rolling to and fro 
In thy vast bed, o'er half the hollowed earth ; 
Grand theatre of wonders to all lands, 
And reservoir of blessings, sound his praise. 
Break forth into a shout of grateful joy. 
Ye mountains, covered with perennial green. 
And pouring crystal torrents down your sides ; 
Ye lofty forests, and ye humble groves ; 
Ye hills, and plains, and valleys, overspread 
With flocks and harvests. All ye feathered tribes, 
That, taught by your Creator, a safe retreat 
Find in the dead of winter, or enjoy 
Sweet summer all your days by changing clime, 
Warble to him all your melodious notes ; 
To him, who clothes you v/ith your gay attire. 
And kindles in your fluttering breasts the glow 
Of love parental. Beasts that graze the fields, 
Or roam the woods, give honor to the Power 
That makes you swift to flee, or strong to meet 
The coming foe ; and rouses you to flight 
In harmless mirth, or soothes to pleasant rest. 
Shout to Jehovah with the voice of praise. 
Ye nations, all ye continents and isles, 



70 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 



People of every tongue ; ye that within 
The verdant shade of palm and plantain sit, 
Feasting on their cool fruit, on torrid plains ; 
And ye that, in the midst of pine-clad hills, 
In snowy regions, grateful vigor inhale 
From every breeze. Ye that inhabit lands 
Where science, liberty, and plenty dwell, 
Worship Jehovah in exalted strains. 
But ye to whom redeeming Mercy comes, 
With present peace, and promises sublime 
Of future crowns, and mansions in the skies, 
Imperishable, raise the loudest song. 
O sing for ever, with seraphic voice. 
To Him whose immortality is yours, 
In the blest union of eternal love ! 
And join them, all ye winged hosts of heaven. 
That in your Maker's glory take delight; 
And ye too, all ye bright inhabitants 
Of starry worlds ; and let the universe 
Above, below, around, be filled with praise ! 



MAUVAISE HONTE. 



BY OLIVER W. B. PEABODY. 



In your manhood's gravest hour, 
As in childhood's season gay, 

Shall the spell of fatal power 

Close around you, night and day. 

Wealth may throw its garlands o'er you. 

Beauty's charms be bright before you ; 

Yet unenvied shall you dwell. 

Fettered by a magic spell. 

In the ball-room you shall sigh. 
Losing all your power to frisk, 

As the victim of his eye 
Stands before the basilisk. 

When the jewelled circle glances. 

Mingling in the mazy dances, 

Pompeys pillar might as soon 

Right-and-left or rigadoon. 

Every moment to your cheek 
Shall the blood in torrents rush ; 

Oft as you essay to speak, 

You shall stammer, stare and blush ; 

What you would have said, delaying, 

What you should not, ever saying; 

While each friend in wonder sits, 

Mourning your departed wits. 

When in love, you shall seem cold 
As the rocks on Zembla's coast : 

When you labor to be bold. 

Sparrows might more courage boast. 

When most gay, most solemn seeming; 

When .attentive, as if dreaming : 

Niobe could teach you how 

You might make a better bow. 

Ask me not to break the chain, 

JNever ! slave of destiny : 
Evermore you must remain 

Fixed — beyond the power to fly. 
Darker hours may yet attend you ; 
Fate a heavier lot may send you ; 
If my spells should fail to kill. 
Go ajid marry — if you will. 



MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 



BY ISAAC HILL. 

The highest mountains within the known limits of the 
old thirteen United States are the cluster in New Hampshire 
called the White Mountains. These mountains are sup- 
posed to be older than any of the ranges of high mountains 
in Europe. Mont Blanc and Mont St. Bernard may peer 
above them, and reach their tops beyond the line of perpetual 
congelation ; but Mount Washington had been thousands 
of years in existence before the internal fires upheaved the 
European Alps. 

Of the useless things in creation, I had taught myself in 
early youth to consider ragged mountains and hills as least 
of all valuable. Fastnesses for the retreat of wild beasts, 
my first recollections almost identify them with the frightful 
catamount that tore in pieces the man whom he was able to 
carry into the limbs of some tree incumbent upon another 
half way in its fall ; with the bear, who was said to carry off 
children with which to feed her young ; or with the vora- 
cious wolf, who would slay an entire flock of sheep some- 
times in a single night. If these mountains were no longer 
a nuisance as harbors for wild beasts, the obstacles which 
they presented to the making of good and easy travelled 
roads connecting one part of the country with another ; the 
space which they occupied precluding that easy cultivation 
which we were wont to see in more level regions, gave them 
no better aspect than that of incumbrances which must forever 
be inconvenient to the population which surrounded them. 

I have changed my mind entirely on this matter ; and if 
we may be said to grow wiser as we grow older, I have just 
that kind of conceit of myself which might call for your re- 



MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 73 

buke if I am now under a mistake. Perhaps you think of 
these mountains as I once thought of them. With me when 
a child stubbing my toes against the rocks or carrying some 
burden up the steep cliffs, having dreamed of the beauty of 
a level country where there was not a rock or a hill in the 
way, you may have been instructed into a poor opinion of 
our mountains. 

The mountain region of New England is almost entirely 
free from those contagious diseases which sweep over the 
country at each annual return of decayed vegetation. The 
pure water and the clear mountain air give to her inhabi- 
tants as good if not better health than is enjoyed by any 
other people on earth. This is the land of iron constitutions, 
of noble and beautiful forms, of hearts of steel, of boundless 
resolution that heeds no obstacle, of enterprise and perse- 
verance which know no discouragement. What part of the 
United States, what city upon the Atlantic seaboard, what 
district of country growing into wealth and respectability in 
the interior, that is not indebted to New England, to the 
beautiful hill country of New England, for much of that 
noble spirit which has hastened them on in the grand march 
of improvement ? 

I have entirely changed my mind within the last few years 
in relation to the most rough country of New England. So 
far from looking upon the rocks, the pebbles, the gravel or 
the sand composing them as so much matter in the way 
adapted to no possible useful service, I see them as the 
sources of that fertility which is sooner or later destined to 
make the territory now composing the six New-England 
States capable of sustaining ten times its present population. 

On the higher White Mountains no traces of the valuable 
and useful metals, as yet, have been discovered upon the 
surface or in the beds excavated by the avalanches. The 
Indians had a tradition that there were carbuncles and pre- 
cious gems upon the open grounds of the mountains above 
the region of vegetation, which were kept from the posses- 
sion of mortals by the enchantment which surrounded them. 
7 



74 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

The notion probably originated in the fact that travelling in 
the sunshine the reflection of isolated rock crystal strikes 
upon the eye at a distance with dazzling brightness, v/hich 
entirely disappears on change of position or on approaching 
to the spot where it was first observed. These appearances 
are frequent upon the open upper grounds of these moun- 
tains, and have probably given them the name of the Crys- 
tal Hills. 

The mountain streams, particularly those in the northern 
region of New Hampshire, are rife with salmon trout, a fish 
of more delicious flavor than any other that sports in Amer- 
ican waters ; as much superior to the perch and suckers 
and chubs that are to be found in sluggish pools and streams, 
as the running water of the cold mountain brook is more 
grateful to the parched throat than the standing liquid of a 
summer frog-pond. The sport of trout-fishing among the 
mountains has an air of romance, tempting the inhabitant 
of the city to journey many miles for its enjoyment. Those 
who by instinct or education know how to handle the fly or 
the minnow ; who can await with patience the reached out 
arm long in the same position for a " glorious nibble ;" who 
can leap over log and stump, through bush and brake, an- 
gling at the turn of an eddy, the tail of a weed-bed, or at the 
foot of a noisy waterfall, and enjoy the sport with the gusto 
of Izaak Walton one hundred and fifty years ago; such as 
these know how to appreciate the pleasures of trout-fishing. 

The beauty and grandeur of scenery in Scotland or Swit- 
zerland, or any other country of Europe, cannot exceed that 
of the mountain region which I have been describing. What 
magnificent landscape will compare with the different views 
at the Notch ; — with the Silver Cascade, half a mile from its 
entrance, issuing from the mountain eight hundred feet above 
the subjacent valley, passing over almost perpendicularly a 
series of rocks so little broken as to preserve the appearance 
of a uniform current, and yet so far disturbed as to be per- 
fectly white; with the Flume, at no great distance, falling 
over three precipices from the height of two hundred and 



MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. /5 

fifty feet, down the two first in a single current, and over 
the last in three, uniting again at the bottom in a basin 
formed by the hand of Nature, perhaps by the wearing of the 
waters, in the rocks ; with the impending rocks directly 
overhead on either side to a vast height rent asunder by that 
Power which first upheaved the mountains, leaving barely 
space for the head stream of the Saco and the road to pass ; 
with the track of the awful avalanches at no great distance 
on either side, coming down from the height, throwing rocks, 
trees and earth across the defile, damming up the stream 
and forcing it to seek new channels, and covering up or 
carrying away clean to the surface of the hard rock the long 
travelled road ! 

If the eye is not here sated with the grandeur and beauty 
of the stupendous works of the Almighty, and the changes 
he has wrought, let the traveller pass into the Franconia 
Notch, near the source of the Merrimack river, twenty miles 
southerly of the White Mountain Notch. 

The Man of the Mountain has long been personated and 
apostrophized : his covered head is the sure forerunner of 
the thunder shower or storm ; and in the world of fiction he 
is made the main agent of the mountain genii, who bewilder 
and mislead the benighted traveller, and whose lodgement 
is in the rocky caverns hitherto unfrequented by the human 
tread. The Profile is perched at the height of more than a 
thousand feet : the solid rock presents a side view or profile 
of the human face, every feature of which in the due pro- 
portion is conspicuous. It is no inanimate profile ; it looks 
the living man, as if his voice could reach to the proportion- 
ate distance of its greater size. 

The Spirit of Liberty dwells upon the mountains and 
among the hills. Look to the Highlands; to the 

" Scots who hae vith Wallace bled 
Scots whom Bruce had often led." 

Look to Switzeriand, to William Tell, to the Tyrolese, 

" Where the son? of freedom soundeth ; " 



76 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

to the Circassians upon the Caucasus now contending for 
liberty against the whole power of Russian despotism. Can 
we find in the plain country of any nation on earth samples 
of a valorous, a chivalrous, an indomitable spirit such as 
these 1 Where is the district of country that can present a 
race of men more devoted to liberty and independence, more 
courageous and darino-, than those who came from the hill 
and mountain towns of New England to fight the enemies 
of the country at Lexington and Bunker Hill ? Such men 
as Rogers and Stark, in their snow-shoes, in the war of 1756, 
could do more with a single company of rangers, natives of 
New-England mountain towns, to keep at bay and annoy 
the French and savage foe, than Lord Howe's entire com- 
mand of several thousand British troops. 

The mountain region of New Hampshire has been denom- 
inated the Switzerland of America. Our scenery is sur- 
passed in beauty by no scenery on earth. Coming down 
from our mountains, I would direct your attention to our 
beautiful lakes. The eye never traced a more splendid 
prospect than the view from Red Hill. The view from 
Mount Washington shows the high mountains around as 
successive dark waves of the sea at your feet, and all other 
objects, the villages and sea, as more indistinct from their 
distance. The view from Red Hill, an elevation of some 
twenty-five hundred feet, which is gained on horseback, 
brings all objects distinctly to the naked eye. On the one 
hand the Winnipiseogee lake, twenty-two miles in length, 
with its bays and islands and surrounding villages and farms 
of parti-colored fields, spreads out like a field of glass at 
the southeast. Loch Lomond with all its splendor and 
beauty presents no scenery that is not equalled in the envi- 
rons of the Winnipiseogee. Its suite of hills and mountains 
serves as a contrast to increase its splendor. We stand upon 
the higher of the three points of Red Hill, limited every 
where by regular circular lines and elegant in its figure be- 
yond most other mountains. The autumnal foliage, over- 
spreading the ranges of mountains, in the season after vege- 



MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. /7 

tation has been arrested by the frosts, is a beauty in our 
scenery that has never been described by any inhabitant of 
Great Britain, because no such scenery ever there existed. 

If Mr. Jefferson thought a single point upon the Potomac 
where that river breaks through the Blue Ridge to be worth 
to the European observer a voyage across the Atlantic, will it 
be deemed extravagant if I should say to the inhabitants of a 
town or city of the United States any where along the At- 
lantic ocean, that the Notch of the White Hills, the Notch 
of the Franconia mountains, the Cascade or the Flume, or 
the Face of the Old Man, or the view from Red Hill, one 
alone or all together, are worth ten times the expense and 
labor of a journey of one hundred, five hundred or one 
thousand miles ? 



7* 



riATTERY 



FOR AN ALBUM. 



BY THOMAS G. FESSENDEN. 

[Bom at Walpole. Died at Boston.] 



Miss Ann, you are, it seems to me, 

An essence all ethereal ; 
The brightest being that can be, 

Entirely immaterial. 

A pencil tipped with solar rays 

Your charms could scarcely blazon ; 

Contrasted with your beauty's blaze 
Bright Sol's a pewter basin. 

Transcendent little sprig of light ! 

If rhymes are always true, 
An angel is an ugly sprite 

Compared to sylph like you. 

You frowning tell me : " This indeed 

Is flattery past all bearing ; 
I ne'er before did hear nor read 

Of any quite so glaring." 

Yes, this is flattery, sure enough, 

And its exaggeration 
May teach you how to hold such stuff" 

In utter detestation. 

Should beaux your ladyship accost 
With something like this flummery, 

Tell them their labor will be lost, 
For this transcends their mummery. 

The man whose favor 's worth a thought, 

To flattery can't descend ; 
The servile sycophant is not 

Your lover nor your friend. 



WEST'S PICTURE OF THE INFANT SAMUEL, 



BY REV. EPHRAIM PEABODY. 



In childhood's spring — ah ! blessed spring ! 

(As flowers closed up at even, 
Unfold in morning's earliest beam,) 

The heart unfolds to heaven. 
Ah ! blessed child ! that trustingly 

Adores, and loves, and fears, 
And to a Father's voice replies. 

Speak, Lord ! thy servant hears. 

When youth shall come — ah ! blessed youth ! 

If still the pure heart glovi's. 
And in tlie world and word of God, 

Its Maker's language knows ; 
If in the night and in the day, 

Midst youthful joys or fears, 
The trusting heart can answer still, 

Speak, Lord ! thy servant hears. 

When age shall come — ah ! blessed age ! 

If in its lengthening shade. 
When life grows faint, and earthly lights 

Recede, and sink and fade ; 
Ah ! blessed age ! if then heaven's light 

Dawns on the closing eye ; 
And faith unto the call of God, 

Can answer. Here am I ! 



THE PATHEll'S CHOICE 



BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE. 



Now fly as flies the rushing wind, 
Urge, urge thy lagging steed ! 

The savage yell is fierce behind, 
And life is on thy speed ; 

And from those dear ones make thy choice 

Tlie group he wildly eyed, 
When " father !" burst from every voice, 

And " child !" his heart replied. 

There 's one that now can share his toil, 

And one he meant for fame. 
And one that wears her mother's smile, 

And one that bears her name. 

And one will prattle on his knee. 

Or slumber on his breast; 
And one whose joys of infancy 

Are still by smiles expressed. 

They feel no fear while he is near; 

He '11 shield them from the foe : 
But oh ! his ear must thrill to hear 

Their shriekings, should he go. 

In vain his quivering lips would speak, 
No words his thoughts allow : 

There 's burning tears upon his cheek. 
Death's marble on his brow. 



•In the year 1697, a body of Indians attacked the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts, killed and carried 
Into captivity forty inh;<bitants. A party of tlie Indians approached the house of an individual, who was 
abroad at his labor, but who, on their approach, hastened to the house, sent his children out, and ordered 
them to Hy in a course opposite to that in which danger was approaching. He then mounted his horse, 
and determined to snatch up the child with which he was unwillm? to part, when he should overtake the 
little flock. When he came up to them, about two hundred yards from his house, he was unable to make 
a choice, or to leave any one of the number. He therefore determined to take his lot with them, and de- 
fend them from their murderers, or die by their side. A body of the Indians pureued, and came up with 
him; and wlien at a short distance, fired on him and bis little company. He returned the fire, and re- 
treated alternately; still, however, keepin? a resolute face to the enemy, and so efllctually sheltered liis 
charge, that he finally lodged them all safe in a distant house. 



THE father's choice. 81 



And twice he smote his clenched hand, 

Then bade his children fly I 
And turned, and even that savage band 

Cowered at his wrathful eye. 

Swift as the lightning winged with death, 
Flashed forth the quivering flame ! 

Their fiercest warrior bows beneath 
The father's deadly aim. 

Not the wild cries that rend the skies, 

His heart or purpose move ; 
He saves his children, or he dies 

The sacrifice of love. 

Ambition goads the conqueror on. 
Hate points the murderer's brand, 

But love and duty, these alone 
Can nerve the good man's hand. 

The hero may resign the field, 

The coward murderer flee ; 
He cannot fear, he will not yield, 

That strikes, sweet love, for thee. 

They come, they come ! he heeds no cry, 

Save the soft childlike Avail, 
" O father, save !" " My children, fly !" 

Were mingled on the gale. 

And firmer still he drew his breath. 

And sterner flashed his eye, 
As fast he hurls his leaden death, 

Still shouting, " Children, fly !" 

No shadow on his brow appeared, 

Nor tremor shook his frame. 
Save when at intervals he heard 

Some trembler lisp his name. 



In vain the foe, those fiends unchained. 

Like famished tigers chafe I 
The sheltering roof is neared, is gained, 

All, all the dear ones safe ! 



now THEY USED TO SPELL. 

FROM 'THE DISTRICT SCHOOL AS IT WAS.' 
BY REV. WARREN BURTON. 

The most extraordinary spelling and indeed reading 
machine in our school was a boy whom I shall call Memorus 
Wordvvell. He was mighty and wonderful in the acquisi- 
tion and remembrance of words ; of signs without the ideas 
signified. The alphabet he acquired at home before he was 
two years old. What exultation of parents, what exclama- 
tion from admiring visiters. *' There was never any thing 
like it !" He had almost accomplished his Abs before he 
was thought old enough for school. At an earlier age than 
usual however he was sent, and then he went from Ache to 
Abomination in half the summers and winters it took the 
rest of us to go over the same space. Astonishing how 
quickly he mastered column after column, section after sec- 
tion of obstinate orthographies ! Those martial terms I have 
just used, together with our hero's celerity, put me in mind 
of Caesar. So I will quote him. Memorus might have said 
in respect to the hosts of the spelling-book, " I came, I saw, 
I conquered." He generally stood at the head of a class, 
each one of whom was two years his elder. Poor creatures ! 
they studied hard some of them, but it did no good ; Mem- 
orus Wordwell was born to be above them, as some men 
are said to have been " born to command." At the public 
examination of his first winter, the people of the district and 
even the minister thought it marvellous that such monstrous 
great words should be mastered by " such a leetle mite of 
a boy 1 " Memorus was mighty also in saying those after- 



HOW THEY USED TO SPELL. 83 

spelling matters, the Key, the Abbreviations, the Punctua- 
tion, &/C. These things were deemed of great account to 
be laid up in remembrance, although they were all very 
imperfectly understood, and some of them not understood 
at all. 

Punctuation ! how many hours, days, and even weeks 
have I tugged away to lift, as it were, to roll up into the 
store-house of my memory, the many long, heavy sentences 
comprehended under this title ! Only survey, (we use this 
word when speaking of considerable space and bulk,) only 
survey the first sentence, a transcript of which I will en- 
deavor to locate in these narrow bounds. I would have my 
readers of the rising generation know what mighty labors 
we little creatures of five, six and seven years old were set 
to perform. 

*' Punctuation is the art of pointing, or of dividing a dis- 
course into periods by points, expressing the pauses to be 
made in the reading thereof, and regulating the cadence or 
elevation of the voice." 

There, I have labored weeks on that ; for I always had 
that lamentable defect of mind not to be able to commit to 
memory what I did not understand. My teachers never 
aided me with the least explanation of the above-copied sen- 
tence, nor of other reading of a similar character, which 
was likewise to be committed to memory. But this and all 
was nothing, as it were, to Memorus Wordwell. He was a 
very Hercules in this wilderness of words. 

Master Wordwell was a remarkable reader too. He could 
rattle off a word as extensive as the name of a Russian noble, 
when he was but five years old, as easily as the schoolmaster 
himself " He can read in the hardest chapters of the Tes- 
tament as fast ag'in as I can," said his mother. ** I never 
did see nothin' beat it," exclaimed his father ; *' he speaks 
up as loud as a minister." But I have said enough about 
this prodigy. I have said thus much because that although 
he was thought so surpassingly bright, he was the most de- 
cided ninny in the school. The fact is, he did not know 



84 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

what the sounds he uttered meant. It never entered his 
head nor the heads of his parents and most of his teachers, 
that words and sentences were written and should be read 
only to be understood. He lost some of his reputation how- 
ever when he grew up toward twenty-one, and it was found 
that numbers, in more senses than one, were far above him 
in arithmetic. 

One little anecdote about Memorus Wordwell before we 
let him go, and this long chapter shall be no longer. 

It happened one day that the " cut and split" for the fire 
fell short, and Jonas Patch was out wielding the axe in 
school time. He had been at vv^ork about half an hour, when 
Memorus, who was perceived to have less to do than the 
rest, was sent out to take his place. He was about ten years 
old, and four years younger than Jonas. " Memorus, you 
may go out and spell Jonas." Our hero did not think of 
the Yankee sense in which the master used the word spell ; 
indeed he had never attached but one meaning to it when- 
ever it was used with reference to himself. He supposed 
the master was granting him a ride extraordinary on his 
favorite hobby. So he put his spelling-book under his arm 
and was out at the wood-pile with the speed of a boy rushing 
to play. 

" Ye got yer spellin' lesson, Jonas?" was his first saluta- 
tion. '* Have n't looked at it yet," was the reply. " I mean to 
cut up this plaguy great log, spellin' or no spellin', before I go 
in. I had as lieve keep warm here choppin' wood, as freeze 
up there in that tarnal cold back seat." " Well, the master 
sent me out to hear you spell." " Did he? well put out the 
words and I '11 spell." Memorus being so distinguished a 
speller, Jonas did not doubt but that he was really sent out 
on this errand. So our deputy spelling-master mounted the 
top of the wood-pile, just in front of Jonas, to put out words 
to his temporary pupil who still kept on putting out chips. 

'* Do you know where the lesson begins, Jonas? " ** No, 
I don't, but I spose I shall find out now." " Well, here 
'tis." (They both belonged to the same class.) "Spell 



HOW THEY USED TO SPELL. 85 

A-bom-i-na-tion." Jonas spells : " A-b-o-m bom a-bom (in 
the mean time up goes the axe high in air,) i a-bomi 
(down it goes again chuck into the wood) n-a na a-bom-i-na 
(up it goes again) t-i-o-n tion, a-bom-i-na-tion, chuck goes 
the axe again, and at the same time out flies a furious chip 
and hits Memorus on the nose. At this moment the master 
appeared just at the corner of the school-house, with one 
foot still on the threshold. " Jonas, why don't you come 
in? did n't I send Memorus out to spell you?" " Yes sir, 
and he has been spelling me. How could I come in if he 
spelt me here ? " At this the master's eye caught Mem- 
orus perched upon the top stick, with his book open upon 
his lap, rubbing his nose, and just in the act of putting out 
the next word of the column. Ac-com-mo-da-tion, pro- 
nounced Memorus in a broken but louder voice than before, 
for he caught a glimpse of the master, and he wished to let 
him know that he was doing his duty. This was too much 
for the master's gravity. He perceived the mistake, and 
without saying more, wheeled back into the school-room, 
almost bursting with the most tumultuous laugh he ever 
tried to suppress. The scholars wondered at his looks and 
grinned in sympathy. But in a few minutes Jonas came in, 
followed by Memorus with his spelling-book, who exclaimed, 
*' I have heard him spell clean through the whole lesson, and 
he did n't spell hardly none of 'em right." The master could 
hold in no longer, and the scholars perceived the blunder, 
and there was one simultaneous roar from pedagogue and 
pupils ; the scholars laughing twice as loud and uproariously 
in consequence of being permitted to laugh in school-time, 
and to do it with the accompaniment of the master. 



HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS. 



BY NATHANIEL H. CARTER. 



In hymns of praise, eternal God ! 

When thy creating hand 
Stretched the blue arch of heaven abroad, 
And meted sea and land. 

The morning stars together sung, 
And shouts of joy from angels rung. 

Than Earth's prime hour, more joyous far 

Was the eventful morn, 
When the bright beam of Bethlehem's star 
Announced a Saviour born ! 

Then sweeter strains from heaven began, 
"Glory to God — good will to man." 

Babe of the manger ! can it be ? 

Art thou the Son of God? 
Shall subject nations bow the knee, 
And kings obey thy nod? 

Shall thrones and monarchs prostrate fall 
Before the tenant of a stall ? 

'T is He ! the hymning seraphs cry, 
While hovering, drawn to earth ; 
'T is he ! the shepherds' songs reply, 
Hail ! hail Immanuel's birth ! 

The rod of peace those hands shall bear, 
That brow a crown of glory wear. 

'T is He ! the Eastern sages sing. 
And spread their golden hoard; 
'T is He ! the hills of Sion ring 
Hosanna to the Lord 1 

The Prince of long prophetic years 
To-day in Bethlehem appears ! 



HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS. 87 



He comes ! tlie Conqueror's march begins ; 

No blood his banner stains; 
He comes to save the world from sins, 
And break the captive's chains ! 

The poor, the sick and blind shall bless 
The Prince of Peace and Righteousness. 

Though now in swaddling-clothes he lies, 

All hearts his power shall own, 
When he, with legions of the skies. 
The clouds of heaven his throne. 

Shall come to judge the quick and dead. 
And strike a trembling world with dread. 



TRUE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. 



BY SAMUEL WORCESTER, D. D. 

[Born al HoUis, November 1, 1771. Died at Brainercl, Cherokee Nation, June 7, 1821.] 

It has often and justly been remarked, that Christianity 
has done more than every thing beside, to elevate woman 
to her proper rank and dignity. But how has this been 
effected ? The gospel, it is obvious, places woman on an 
equal footing with man, in regard to God and the blessings 
of his kingdom. It breathes a spirit of pure and exalted 
benevolence, and inculcates reciprocal kindness and regard, 
and all the endearing and improving charities and offices 
of the domestic and social state. Nor is this all. The 
principles of Christianity, cordially embraced and practiced, 
impart an elevation of sentiment and character, to which 
otherwise our fallen nature can never attain. This has been 
perceived and felt ; and particularly in regard to the tender 
sex. Inspired by the gospel, women have risen to sublime 
intrinsic excellence. They have struck with confusion that 
spirit of pride, or of sensuality, which would regard them 
as merely subservient to the whims or the passions of men ; 
and have showed themselves beings of the noblest endow- 
ments, impressed with the stamp of immortality, and form- 
ed for exalted purity, felicity and glory. 

Look at the women present at the crucifixion, who fol- 
lowed the Son of God from Galilee, and ministered unto 
him. Are these mere forms of earth, made only for the 
purposes of soft amusement or voluptuous pleasure ? No ; 
they stand, acknowledged beings of an exalted rank, allied 
to angelic natures, and destined to ascend the scale of im- 



TRUE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. 89 

mortal perfection. Others of the sex have been seen in the 
same dignified light ; and in proportion as women have been 
inspired with the love of God our Saviour, and influenced 
in their practice by the uncorrupted principles of the gos- 
pel, they have been raised from the debasement of sensual 
degradation to the dignity of intellectual and moral excel- 
lence. Even the most arduous virtues of the christian char- 
acter, women have displayed in their highest perfection ; 
and in scenes of martyrdom for the name of Jesus, have 
shown a constancy and a courage which have never been 
transcended by the most renowned heroes on the field of 
battle. 

It is thus that Christianity has improved the condition of 
the sex. It has imparted to them intrinsic and exalted 
worth ; it has shown them in the unfading charms of moral 
beauty ; it has inspired them with a dignity and adorned 
them with virtues which can never fail to be regarded with 
esteem, with respect, with admiration. 

Purity, tenderness, loveliness ; are these the distinguish- 
ed attributes of female excellence ? They are also the dis- 
tinguished attributes of Christianity. What more pure, 
more tender, more lovely than true love to Christ 1 And 
when it holds its empire in the female breast, what should 
be expected but the most delightful and admirable display 
of all that is most amiable and excellent 7 It is indeed the 
genuine religion of the gospel only, which gives perfection 
to the character of woman. It is the love of the Saviour 
glowing in the heart, and imparting its influence to every 
action which gives substance and life to all, which consti- 
tutes female excellence, which adds the highest and purest 
lustre to female graces and charms, and which only can 
render woman truly '* angelic." 

It is no splendid fiction which I here exhibit. It is a 
substantial reality; a reality which has been most exten- 
sively felt and acknowledged. Not in the scriptures only, 
but in history, in poetry, and even in novels, corrupt as in 
general they are, piety is recognized as essential to the fin- 
8* 
/ 



90 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

ished female character. Men who have no religion them- 
selves, do homage to it in the female form, and are shocked 
at the idea of a woman destitute of religious principle. 

The desire to please has been considered as peculiarly 
influential in the female breast ; and when duly regulated, 
its influence, no doubt, has been laudable and benign. But 
are they desirous to render themselves pleasing to their fel- 
low mortals ? Are they emulous of the esteem and the ap- 
plauses of men 1 And can they be less concerned to render 
themselves pleasing to their divine Creator ? Can they be 
less solicitous to secure the smiles and favor of Him who is 
infinitely good ? But how shall they render themselves 
pleasing to God, how secure his smiles and his favor, if not 
by the love and service of Christ 1 

On the banks of the Jordan and on the Mount of glory, 
the voice of the Eternal Father was heard : " This is my 
beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased ; hear ye him." 
By many women of Israel this voice was obeyed. They 
heard the Saviour ; they loved and served him. In this 
they pleased God. For this they received assurances of his 
gracious approbation and favor, and their names are record- 
ed with honor on the pages of his word, and enrolled with 
glory in the archives of his kingdom. The names of the 
affectionate Mary and her faithful companions will be had 
in glorious remembrance with God, when the proudest mon- 
uments of earthly renown shall have passed away with the 
ruins of the world. 

Yes, it is when woman appears truly devoted to her Sa- 
viour, that the beneficent Father of all looks down upon 
her from his throne in the heavens, with infinite compla- 
cency and love. It is then that he recognizes with ineffa- 
ble delight his last and loveliest workmanship, as truly a 
help-meet for man ; and with smiles of everlasting approba- 
tion and favor, gives charge to his angels to protect her 
through life, and then conduct her to glory. 



THE GRAVE OF PAYSON. 



BY WILLIAM B.TAPPAN. 



I STOOD, in silence and alone, 

Just at the Sabbath shut of day, 
Where, quietly, the modest stone 

Told nie that Payson's relics lay. 
No gorgeous tale nor herald's arms 

Astonished with their splendid lie, 
Or hireling praise ; — in Truth's meek charms 

It said, " His record is on high." 

I gazed around the burial soot. 

That looks on Portland's spires below, 
And on her thousands who are not. 

Did sad yet useful thought bestow ; 
Here sleep they till the trumpet's tongue 

Shall peal along a blazing sky ; 
Yet who of these — the old and young, 

May read his record then on high ! 

And near, I saw the early grave 

Of him who fought at Tripoli ; 
Who would not live, tlie Moslem's slave, 

Who fell, a martyr with the free. 
And wrapt in Freedom's starry flag. 

The chief who dared to " do or die ;" 
And England's son, who could not lag. 

Whose deeds his country wrote on high. 

What glory lit their spirit's track. 

When from the gory deck they flew ! 
Could wishes woo the heroes back ? 

Say, did not fame their path pursue? 
Oh, gently sleep the youthful brave 

Who fall where martial clarions cry, 
The men, entombed in earth or wave. 

Whose blood-writ record is on high ! 

I turned again to Payson's clay, 
And recollected well how bright 

The radiance, far outshining day, 
That robed his soaring soul in light. 



92 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



What music stole awhile from heaven, 
To charm away his parting sigh ! 

What wings to waft him home were given, 
Whose holy record was on high ! 

And give me — trembling, said I then. 

Some place, my Saviour, where sxich dwell 
And far above the pride of men. 

And pomp of which the worldlings tell. 
Will be my lot. Come, haughty kings ! 

And ye who pass in glitter by. 
And feel that ye are abject things. 

Whose record is not found on high. 



DUTIES Of AMERICAN CITIZENS. 



BY LEVI WOODBURY. 

While meditating upon our own astonishing progress, 
as developed in history, and discriminating with care the 
origin alike of our perils and securities as a people, does it 
not behoove us to weigh well the importance of our present 
position ? Not our position merely with regard to foreign 
powers. From them we have, by an early start and rapid 
progress in the cause of equal rights, long ceased to fear 
much injury, or to hope for very essential aid, in our further 
efforts for the thorough improvement of the condition of 
society in all that is useful or commendable. Nor our po- 
sition, however the true causes may be distorted or denied 
— our elevated position in prosperity and honorable estima- 
tion, both at home and abroad. But it is our position, so 
highly responsible, as the only country where the growth of 
self-government seems fully to have ripened and to have be- 
come a model or example to other nations ; or, as the case 
may prove, their scoff and scorn. 

To falter here and now, would therefore probably be to 
cause the experiment of such a government to fail for ever. 
It is not sufficient, in this position, to loathe servitude, or 
to love liberty with all the enthusiasm of Plutarch's he- 
roes. But we must be warned by our history how to main- 
tain liberty ; how to grasp the substance rather than the 
shadow ; to disregard rhetorical flourishes, unless accom- 
panied by deeds ; not to be cajoled by holyday finery, or 
pledges enough to carpet the polls, where integrity and burn- 
ing zeal do not exist to redeem them ; nor to permit ill- 



94 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

vaunting ambition to volunteer and vaunt its professions of 
ability as well as willingness to serve the people against 
their own government, any more than demagogues, in a 
rougher mood, with a view to rob you, sacrilegiously, of 
those principles, or undermine with insidious pretensions, 
those equal institutions which your fathers bled to secure. 
Nor does true reform, however frequent in this position, and 
under those institutions, scarcely ever consist in violence, 
or what usually amounts to revolution, the sacred right of 
which, by force or rebellion, in extreme cases of oppression, 
being seldom necessary to be exercised here, because reform 
is one of the original elements of those institutions, and one 
of their great, peaceable, and prescribed objects. However 
the timid then may fear, or the wealthy denounce its prog- 
ress, it is the principal safety-valve of our system, rather 
than an explosion to endanger or destroy it. We should 
also weigh well our delicate position as the sole country 
whither the discontented in all others resort freely, and while 
conforming to the laws, abide securely ; and whither the 
tide of emigration, whether for good or evil, seems each 
year setting with increased force. 

It behooves us to look our perils and difficulties, such as 
they are, in the face. Then, with the exercise of candor, 
calmness, and fortitude, being able to comprehend fully 
their character and extent, let us profit by the teachings of 
almost every page in our annals, that any defects under our 
existing system have resulted more from the manner of ad- 
ministering it than from its substance or form. We less 
need new laws, new institutions, or new powers, than we 
need, on all occasions, at all times and in all places, the 
requisite intelligence concerning the true spirit of our pres- 
ent ones ; the high moral courage, under every hazard and 
against every offender, to execute with fidelity the authority 
already possessed ; and the manly independence to abandon 
all supineness, irresolution, vacillation, and time-serving 
pusillanimity, and enforce our present mild system with 
that uniformity and steady vigor throughout, which alone 



DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 95 

can supply the place of the greater severity of less free in- 
stitutions. To arm and encourage us in renewed efforts to 
accomplish every thing on this subject which is desirable, 
our history constantly points her finger to a most efficient 
resource, and indeed to the only elixir, to secure a long life 
to any popular government, in increased attention to useful 
education and sound morals, with the wise description of 
equal measures and just practices they inculcate on every 
leaf of recorded time. Before their alliance the spirit of 
misrule will always in time stand rebuked, and those who 
worship at the shrine of unhallowed ambition must quail. 
Storms in the political atmosphere may occasionally happen 
by the encroachments of usurpers, the corruption or in- 
trigues of demagogues, or in the expiring agonies of faction, 
or by the sudden fury of popular frenzy ; but with the re- 
straints and salutary influences of the allies before described, 
these storms will purify as healthfully as they often do in 
the physical world, and cause the tree of liberty, instead of 
falling, to strike its roots deeper. In this struggle, the en- 
lightened and moral possess also a power, auxiliary and 
strong, in the spirit of the age, which is not only with them, 
but onward, in every thing to ameliorate or improve. When 
the struggle assumes the form of a contest with power in all 
its subtlety, or with undermining and corrupting wealth, as 
it sometimes may, rather than with turbulence, sedition, or 
open aggression, by the needy and desperate, it will be in- 
dispensable to employ still greater diligence ; to cherish 
earnestness of purpose, resoluteness in conduct ; to apply 
hard and constant blows to real abuses rather than milk- 
and-water remedies, and encourage not only bold, free, and 
original thinking, but determined action. In such a cause 
our fathers were men whose hearts were not accustomed to 
fail them through fear, however formidable the obstacles. 
Some of them were companions of Cromwell, and imbued 
deeply with his spirit and iron decision of character, in 
whatever they deemed right : " If Pope, and Spaniard, and 
devil, (said he,) all set themselves against us, though they 



96 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

should compass us about as bees, as it is in the ISth Psalm, 
yet in the name of the Lord we will destroy them." We 
are not, it is trusted, such degenerate descendants as to 
prove recreant, and fail to defend, with gallantry and firm- 
ness as unflinching, all which we have either derived from 
them, or since added to the rich inheritance. 

New means and energies can yearly be brought to bear 
on the farther enlightening of the public mind. Self-inter- 
est, respectability in society, official rank, wealth, superior 
enjoyment, are all held out as the rewards of increased in- 
telligence and good conduct. The untaught in letters, as 
well as the poor in estate, cannot long close their eyes or 
their judgments to those great truths of daily occurrence in 
our history. They cannot but feel that the laws, when duly 
executed, insure these desirable ends in a manner even 
more striking to themselves and children, drudjes and serfs 
as they may once have been, than to the learned, wealthy, 
or great. They see the humblest log-cabin rendered as se- 
cure a castle as the palace, and the laborer in the lowest 
walks of life as quickly entitled to the benefit of a habeas 
corpus, when im.prisoned without warrant of law, as the 
highest in power, and assured of as full and ready redress 
for personal violence, and of indemnity as ample for injury 
to character or damage to property. Not a particle of his 
estate, though but a single ewe-lamb in the western wilder- 
ness, or the most sterile acre on the White Mountains, can 
be taken away with impunity, though by the most powerful, 
without the voluntary consent of the indigent owner, nor 
even be set apart for public purposes, without the same 
necessities and the same just compensation awarded as in 
case of the greatest. 

It would hardly be necessary to advance any farther ar- 
guments deduced from our history in proof of the peculiar 
importance, or indeed vitality, of sound morals, as well as 
sound education, in such a government as ours, at all times, 
and more especially in periods of increased peril. They, 
indeed, always constitute a power higher than the law itself, 



DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 97 

and possess a healthy vigor much beyond the law. Nor, 
under our admirable system, does the promotion of morality 
require any, as mere citizens, to aid it, through political 
favor to the cause of any particular creed of religion, how- 
ever deep may be our individual convictions of its truth or 
importance beyond all the world can give or the world take 
away. Our public associations for purposes of government 
now wisely relate to secular concerns alone. 

Surely, any of us can be the worthy descendants of the 
Puritans without being, after the increased lights of two 
hundred more years, puritanical in the indulgence of big- 
otry, or in placing any reliance on the dangerous and, it is 
hoped, exploded union of church and state for public security. 

On the contrary, the progress of temperance, the improve- 
ment in household comforts, the wider diffusion of knowl- 
edge as well as of competency in property, and the associa- 
tion, so intimate and radical, between enlarged intelligence 
and the growth of moral worth and even religious principle, 
with the advantages all mutually confer and receive, con- 
stitute our safest dependence, and exhibit a characteristic, 
striking, and highly creditable to our whole country, as 
well as in some degree to the present age. If constantly 
reinforced by those exertions of the enlightened, the virtu- 
ous, and the talented, which they can well spare, and which 
duty, honor and safety demand, they seem to encourage 
strong hopes that the arm of the law will not hereafter be 
so often palsied by any moral indifference among the peo- 
ple at large, or in any quarter, as to its strength to guide as 
well as hold the helm. 

At such a crisis, therefore, and in such a cause, yielding 
to neither consternation nor despair, may we not all profit 
by the vehement exhortations of Cicero to Atticus : " If you 
are asleep, awake ; if you are standing, move ; if you are 
moving, run ; if you are running, fly'?" 

All these considerations warn us, the grave-stones of al- 
most every former republic warn us, that a high standard 
of moral rectitude, as well as of intelligence, is quite as in- 
9 



98 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

dispensable to communities in their public doings as to in- 
dividuals, if they would escape from either degeneracy or 
disgrace. 

There need be no morbid delicacy in employing on this 
subject a tone at once plain and fearless. Much of our own 
history unites in admonishing all, that those public doings 
should be characterized, when towards the members of the 
same confederacy, not by exasperations or taunts, but by 
mutual concessions, in cases of conflicting claims, by ami- 
cable compromises where no tribunal is provided for equal 
arbitration, by exact justice to the smallest as well as to the 
largest state ; and, through all irritations and rebuffs, the 
more bitter often because partaking of the freedom of their 
family origin, by an inflexible adherence to that spirit of 
conciliation, and to that cultivation of harmony, through 
mutual affection and mutual benefits rather than force, 
which, honorable if not always honored, formed and has 
hitherto sustained our happy Union. 



SONG OE THE ANGELS IN 'FAUST, 

TRANSLATED FROM TIIE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

BY GEORGE W. HAVEN. 

RAPHAEL. 

The Sun resounds with ancient wont, 

Mid brother spheres in rival song, 
And, with appointed journeyment, 

Rolls in his thunder movement on. 
His vision gives the angels might. 

Though none to fathom him essay ; 
While rest thy lofty works of light, 

Lordly, as at their natal day. 



And, swift incomprehensibly. 

Earth speeds in splendor round, 
Changing Elysian brilliancy 

With shuddering night profound. 
Foams on the cliff's deep-sunken basement, 

In widening streams, the sea-wave hoarse : 
Earth, sea, and cliff, in fearful mazement. 

Speed — ceaseless, quick — their spheric course. 

MICHAEL. 

Fell, rival storms sweep forth amain, 

From sea to land, from land to sea, 
And form in wrath their potent chain. 

That girds, and girds eternally. 
Waste, waste and wild the lightning gleams 

Before the bolted thunder's way. 
Yet, Lord, thy servants praise the beams 

That, softly changing, form thy day. 

THE THREE TOGETHER. 

Thy vision gives the angels might. 
Though none thy glories fathom may. 

While rest thy lofty works of light. 
Lordly, as at their natal day. 



THE RIYER MERRIMAC. 

BY HON. WILLIAM MERCHANT RICHARD SO 

[Burn at Pelham, January 4, 1774. Died at Chester, March, 1838.] 



Sweet Merrimac ! thy gentle stream 
Is fit for better poet's theme, 
For rich thy waves and gentle too, 
As Rome's proud Tyber ever knew ; 
And thy fair current's placid swell 
Would flow in classic song as well. 
Yet on thy banks, so green, so sweet. 
Where w^ood-nymphs dance and naiads meet. 
E'en since creation's earliest dawn, 
No son of song was ever born ; 
No muses' fairy feet e'er trod 
Thy modest margin's verdant sod ; 
And mid Time's silent, feathery flight, 
Like some coy maiden, pure as light. 
Sequestered in some blest retreat, 
Far from the city and the great. 
Thy virgin waves the vales among 
Have flowed neglected and unsung. 
Yet as the sailor, raptured, hails 
His native shores, his native vales. 
Returning home from many a day 
Of tedious absence, far away 
From her whose charms alone control 
The warm affections of his soul; 
Thus, from life's stormy, troubled sea. 
My heart returns to visit thee. 

Sweet Nymph, whose fairy footsteps press. 
And viewless fingers gaily dress. 
By moonliglit or by Ilesper's beam. 
The verdant banks of this sweet stream ; 
Who oft by twilight's doubtful ray, 
With wood-nymphs and with naiad gay, 
Lead'st up the dance in merry mood, 
To the soft murmurs of the flood ; 
All hail once more ! 't is many a year 
Since last I came to meet thee here. 
And much it glads my heart once more 
To meet thee on this pleasant shore ; 
For here in youth, when hope was high, 



N. 



THE RIVER MERRIMAC. 101 



My breast a stranger to a sigh, 

And my blood danced through every vein, 

Amid the jolly, sportive train 

Of youths and maids, who gathering round, 

Danced to the flute's entrancing sound, 

I felt thy powerful influence 

The bliss our bosoms felt, dispense ; ^ 

Delight on all our bosoms pour. 

And make our hearts with joy brim o'er. 

Thy fingers on each virgin's cheek 
Impressed the witching " dimple sleek;" 
Bade magic smiles and blushes meet, 
In mixture ravishingly sweet. 
And many a face a charm possess, 
Which then I felt — but can't express. 
Blest days, alas ! forever past, 
Sunk in the ocean deep and vast 
Of years, whose dread profundity 
Is pierced by none but Fancy's eye, 
Your joys like gems of pearly light, 
There hallowed shine in Fancy's sight. 
What though beside this gentle flood, 
Bedewed with tears and wet with blood, 
Profusely shed by iron Mars, 
In wild Ambition's cruel wars, 
No evergreen of glory weaves 
Among the fallen warriors' graves ? 
What though the battle's bloody rage. 
Where mad contending chiefs engage, 
The nymphs that rule these banks so green 
And naiads soft, have never seen ? 
What though ne'er tinged this crystal wave 
The rich blood of the fallen brave ? 
No deatliless deed by hero done. 
No battle lost, no victory won ; 
Here ever waked with praise or blame, 
The loud uplifted trump of fame ? 
Here bounteous Spring profusely showers 
A wilderness of sweets and flowers. 
The stately oak of royal line, 
The spreading elm and towering pine, 
Here cast a purer, happier shade, 
"Than blood-stained laurels ever made. 
No wailing ghosts of warriors slain. 
Along these peaceful shores complain; 
No maniac virgin crazed with care. 
The mournful victim of despair ; 
While pangs unutterable swell 
Her heart, to view the spot where fell 
The youth who all her soul possessed, 
She tears her hair or beats her breast. 
Ne'er victor lords, nor conquered slaves. 
Disgraced these banks, disgraced these waves; 
But freedom, peace, and plenty here, 
Perpetual bless the passing year. 

9* 



DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. 



BY REV. W M . S . B A L C H . 

Against the operation of the great practical doctrine that 
all men are created free and equal, two powers have been 
perpetually warring; the domination of physical force and 
the corruption of wealth. Wordly ambition has seized 
upon each of these in turn and wielded them against the 
liberties of the people. Sometimes both have been combined 
to keep the great mass of men in ignorance and bondage ; 
for when all are equal, these distinctions are destroyed. 
Hence their struggles have been determined, hot and death- 
like. The conflict has been so long and severe, the tri- 
umphs of the right so temporary, and the chances so uncer- 
tain, that doubters have often given over, by scores and by 
thousands, to a settled despair for the success of the true, 
the equal, and the free, over the false, the partial, and the 
bound. 

The first encroachment upon the rights and liberties of 
man was the work of deception and falsehood, and the first 
triumph over him was gained by physical power. From 
that day darkness prevailed and animal strength bore rule. 
Among all savages he that was mightiest in war, or swiftest 
in the chase, was installed chief of his tribe : and he that has 
been shrewdest in management has been the most successful 
competitor for renown amongst those a few grades elevated 
above the savage state. As tribes increased in numbers and 
the social ties were strengthened, these habits were changed 
from a nomad or wandering to an agricultural or fixed life, 
and emirs became kings of nations. Physical force, skill 
and bravery were then employed to conquer and make trib- 



DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. 103 

utary the surrounding clans or nations, to reduce the people 
to actual slavery or vassalage, and consolidate authority in 
the person of the monarch. Hence sprang into being great 
kingdoms and empires based on brute power, and propped 
by general ignorance, which spread wide their borders over 
the dwellers on the earth, the sole management of which 
was intrusted to kings and their counsellors. Successful 
in so much, rulers grew giddy in their elevation and idly 
dreamed of universal dominion, in attempts at which their 
vision was so dazzled that they could not discern the means 
of their own safety, and they stumbled and fell. Man, 
physically, has no limitless powers. Bounds are set which 
he cannot pass. When he attempts to transcend them he 
falls, and the huge fabrics of his creation crumble to pieces, 
and resolve into new and generally improved combinations. 
So rose and so fell the mightiest empires of the East. So 
rose into greatness and sank into ruin and ftided into night, 
the kingdoms and glory of the kingdoms of the Pharaohs 
and Ptolemies ; of Cyrus, Cambyses, and Xerxes ; of Philip 
and Alexander ; of the Csesars and the Bonapartes. And 
so shall fall every other kingdom, nation, and state not 
based on the principles of eternal right and equity. Let 
them fall ! 

But the wreck and ruin which follow^ the overthrow of 
nations based on filse principles, and adopting unequal and 
unjust practices, is no loss, but a gain; for the world, on 
the whole, is not made worse but better. When tyrants fall 
the people rise. And when thrown upon their own resources, 
they begin to learn that they are men, and have rights as 
well as kings and rulers ; and they begin to task their in- 
genuity to find out means to defend and render them perma- 
nent. A temporary and sometimes tremendous concussion 
will follow the breaking up of old established orders, the 
tearing in sunder of party lines which have bounded the am- 
bition of despots; and the greatest consternation will justly 
fill the bosom of those snugly at ease; safely, as they think, 
ensconced in power and privilege. The darkest scenes of 



104 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

anarchy, rapine, and plunder, may mark the incursions of 
barbarian hordes, who issue from their mountain fastnesses 
and overrun and lay waste the fairest cities and stateliest 
monuments which kingly pride and oppression may have 
reared ; but these are only the bursting of the deadly por- 
tions of the elements which are collected in a brief tornado, 
visiting ruin upon a single spot, while the whole atmosphere 
is rendered more pure and healthful, and true blessings are 
more generally and permanently diffused thereby. It was 
an angel of mercy that troubled the waters and gave them 
their healing properties. Look at it when and where you 
will, in the history of the past or in the nature and fitness 
of things, and you will find that the loosings of the power of 
tyranny, and the extension to the people of their just rights, 
have directly tended to their exaltation and improvement in 
knowledge, virtue, and happiness. Temporary confusion 
will necessarily follow revolution ; but from the mass the he- 
terogeneous materials will become gradually fused and amal- 
gamated into new and improved systems, which will more 
completely develope the latent resources of man's true great- 
ness. 

Ignorance is the most efficient weapon in the hands of 
monarchs, by which to hold their subjects in bondage. 
Knowledge, distributed among the people, is the only suc- 
cessful implement by which to repel the invasion of their 
rio-hts, to assert their liberties and maintain them. It is the 
battle-axe of Omnipotence by which to slay sin, death, and 
hell, and gain universal freedom to the world. And he who 
wields it now in a good cause is sure of a glorious issue. 

But another power, more secret and more humble in pre- 
tensions, but equally sure in its operations, insinuated itself 
into the systems of government and sapped the foundation 
of popular liberty and equal rights. I mean the corruption 
of wealth. What authority based on blood and brute force 
could not accomplish, being obliged to act openly, became 
the easy work of wealth, operating under fair pretences, or 
on private promises for the benevolent administration of 



DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. 105 

government, or the advancement of personal interest. No 
sooner was this power permitted to corrupt the minds than 
the distinction of patrician and plebian was created, and 
favors and chains were apportioned to each. At first the fa- 
vors were dealt out with a chary hand ; and the fetters were 
forged carefully, so as to set easy upon the limbs, and cause 
no sudden or loud complaint. But the force of habit is strong, 
almost supreme, especially if its growth is gradual. Soon 
as the mind became inured to the distinctions, the breach 
widened, and the restraints grew less, till the great body of 
the people found themselves corrupted and enslaved by those 
revelling in luxury, but more corrupt and depraved than 
themselves. Tyrant power saw the occasion, seized the 
opportunity, built its throne on the lives and liberties of the 
slain ; for the living had none ; and again performed its 
deeds of darkness and guilt for a season. 

The free spirit was then shorn of its strength ; the wings 
of its heavenward flight were clipped ; and, through the long 
night of moral and intellectual darkness, wandered forlorn, 
an outcast from the courts of kings, the castles of feudal 
lords, and the bosoms of the poor ; till at length it found a 
home in the lodges of Germany and Scandinavia, among the 
glaziers of the Alps, along the banks of the Rhine, anion o- 
the Vaudois of France, and in many large souls in the Brit- 
ish Isles, Being of spontaneous growth, it only needed a 
natural soil and an opportunity to carry it to a rapid matu- 
rity. Taking religion to its aid, it appealed to higher than 
human courts for the right ; to the God of all right, and 
justice, and truth ; and attired itself for a new and deter- 
mined conquest; resolved on victory or extinction. The 
tocsin of war sounded from the Vatican, then mistress 
of tyrants, and spread the alarm through all the borders of 
oppressors. But to the utter astonishment of all, the sparks 
of freedom seemed wide scattered over all Europe, and, 
when fanned by oppression, burst into flames and radiated 
more terrifically because of surrounding darkness. Then 
ecclesiastics and civilians, rich men and poor, old men and 



106 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

young, in whose bosoms burned the sacred love of liberty, 
uprose in the greatness of their strength, arrayed themselves 
for the contest, and marched boldly forth to mingle in the 
holy strife for equal rights. Wealth, royalty, and absolution 
were spurned, and principles of eternal truth and freedom 
of the soul, guarded by free investigation, were selected as 
the firm ground and towering bulwarks where to plant them- 
selves for defence. They kindled their watch-fires on every 
tall height, a beacon-light to the oppressed, a terror to the 
oppressors. The assault was made ; the conflict most se- 
vere. But He who rules in ridit gave the battle to the 
weak, defeat to the strong. In their weakness, the weak 
grew strong ; in their strength the strong were made weak. 
Truth, long crushed, rose in triumph over error. Oppression, 
long successful, gave place to the right; and the justice of 
God's ways were distinctly revealed to man. 



THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 



BY REV. WILLIAM B. O. PEA BODY. 



And this is death ! how cold and still, 
And yet how lovely it appears ! 

Too cold to let the gazer smile, 
But far too beautiful for tears. 

Tiie sparkling eye no more is bright, 
The cheek hath lost its rose-like red ; 

And yet it is with strange delight 
I stand and gaze upon the dead. 

But when I see the fair wide brow. 
Half shaded by the silken hair, 

That never looked so fair as now, 
When life and health were laughing there, 

I wonder not that grief should swell 
So wildly upward in the breast, 

And that strong passion once rebel 
That need not, cannot be suppressed. 

I wonder not that parents' eyes 
In gazing thus grow cold and dim, 

That burning tears and aching sighs 
Are blended with the funeral hymn ; 

The spirit hath an earthly part, 
That weeps when earthly pleasure flies, 

And heaven would scorn tlie frozen heart 
That melts not when the infant dies. 

And yet why mourn ? that deep repose 
Shall never more be broke by pain ; 

Those lips no more in sighs unclose, 
Those eyes shall never weep again. 

For think not that the blushing flower 
Shall wither in the church-yard sod : 

'T was made to gild an angel's bower 
Within the paradise of God. 

Once more I gaze — and swift and far 
The clouds of death in sorrow fly : 

I see thee like a new-born star 
Move up thy pathway in the sky ', 



108 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



The star hath rays serene and bright, 
But cold and pale compared with thine ; 

For thy orb shines with heavenly light, 
With beams unfailing and divine. 

Then let the burdened heart be free, 
The tears of sorrow all be shed. 

And parents calmly bend to see 
The mournful beauty of the dead ; 

Thrice happy — that their infant bears 
To heaven no darkening stains of sin, 

And only breathed life's morning airs 
Before its evening storms begin. 

Farewell ! I shall not soon forget ! 
Although thy heart hath ceased to beat. 

My memory warmly treasures yet 
Thy features calm and mildly sweet ; 

But no, that look is not the last ; 
We yet may meet where seraphs dwell. 

Where love no move deplores the past. 
Nor breathes that withering word — Farewell 



RECOLLECTIONS OF PETERBOROUGIL 

FROM A SPEECH AT THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. 
BY JAMES WILSON, JR. 

Sir, when I learned some few weeks ago that it was pro- 
posed to celebrate this Centennial Anniversary of the settle- 
ment of my native town, I resolved to be present ; and in 
the expectation that I might be called on for a word, I be- 
gan to search the by-places and corners of my mind, to 
ascertain whether any thing connected with Peterborough 
history had been stowed away there, that might be brought 
out to contribute to the interest of the occasion. 

We have heard of the patriotism of our ancestors, of 
their unanimity in sustaining and devotion to the American 
cause, in her early efforts for free government. They sought 
for a government of equal and impartial laws. Permit me 
to relate to you an anecdote illustrating their profound re- 
spect for sound laws. 

My grandfather, as you know Mr. President, kept a tav- 
ern in a small house, the shape of which sets all description 
at defiance ; but its rickety remains are still to be seen upon 
the farm of your townsman. Captain William Wilson. A 
number of persons being assembled at his public house, an 
occurrence happened, not unusual in the town at that time, 
namely, a fight. There was a blow, and blood drawn. The 
defeated party threatened an immediate prosecution, but the 
spectators interposed their friendly advice, and a reference 
of the matter was agreed to by the parties. Five good men 
and true were designated as referees, who undertook to arbi- 
trate upon the momentous matter. A solemn hearing was 
10 



110 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

gone into. Every person present was inquired of as to the 
fact. After a deliberate hearing of the parties, their several 
proofs and allegations, the referees awarded that the aggres- 
sor should pay the cost of reference, by a full treat for all 
the company, and give as damages to the injured man, for 
the blood lost, an equal quantity of cherry-rum, which they 
appraised at a half-pint. Ill-blood is sometimes created be- 
tween the parties to a law-suit, that continues to circulate 
in the veins of succeeding generations. No such result fol- 
lowed the Peterborough law-suit above reported. The wis- 
dom of the referees was universally commended, as mani- 
fested in their liberal award of damages, and their sagacity 
highly extolled for the discovery of an adequate and proper 
remedy for healing the wound inflicted upon " the peace 
and dignity of the State." The referees, the parties and 
their witnesses all separated perfect friends. 

We have heard that one of the prominent traits of the 
early inhabitants was a fondness for fun. It was on all oc- 
casions sought after, and it mattered little at whose expense 
it was procured. The name of one has already been men- 
tioned, famous for his singular cast of mind and his witty 
sarcasms — " Old Mosey Morison." I at this moment have 
in mind an anecdote which, by leave, I will relate ; and if I 
omit the name of the individual upon whom the wit was 
perpetrated, I suppose the chief marshal o^ the day will take 
no exception to the relation of the story. Mosey Morison 
was here universally called, in common parlance, " Uncle 
Mosey." A young gentleman of no small pretensions to 
learning and high standing in this town, some forty years 
ao-o, went to the town of Nelson, then called Packersfield, 
to instruct a winter school. In the course of the winter 
*' Uncle Mosey " happened to call at the store of a Mr. Mel- 
ville, where a large number of the people of Packersfield 
were assembled, and there met the young Peterborough 
school-master. The school-master accosted him in the fa- 
miliar salutation of *' How do you do. Uncle Mosey ? " The 
old gentleman, looking away, and manifesting no sign of 



RECOLLECTIONS OF PETERBOROUGH. Ill 

recognition, replied in a cold, disdainful tone : " Uncle Mo- 
sey ! Uncle I to he sure ! I'm na uncle of yours ; I claim 
na relationship with you, young jnan.'^ On his return to 
Peterborough, Mr. Morison related the incident to his blood 
relations, the Smiths, who asked him why he denied the re- 
lationship of the school-master. " Wliy," replied the old 
man, " I did na ivish the people of Packersfeld to under- 
stand that a' the relations of the Morisons were consummate 
fools." 

I fear, Mr. President, that I am taking too much time in 
the relation of Peterborough stories. I will detain you with 
only one more. At one of the stores in town, upon a cold 
winter's night, quite a number of the people being present, 
the toddy circulated freely, and the company became some- 
what boisterous, and as usual, some of them talked a good 
deal of nonsense. An old Mr. Morison,* who plumed him- 
self (and not without much reason) upon his talking talent, 
had made several unsuccessful attempts to get the floor, (in 
parliamentary phrase,) and the ear of the house. The toddy 
had done its work too effectually for him, and he gave it up 
as desperate, and taking a seat in a retired part of the room, 
he exclaimed in utter despair, " A^ loeel, a' weel, here ye are, 
gab, gab, gab, gab, — and common-sense maun set aliind 
the door.'' 

I have watched with intense interest, the wonderful im- 
provements that have been carried forward in my native 
town within the last thirty years. "When I was a boy, a 
weekly mail, carried upon horse-back by a very honest old 
man by the name of Gibbs, afforded all the mail facilities 
which the business of the town required. Now, Sir, we 
see a stage-coach pass and repass through this beautiful vil- 
lage every day, loaded with passengers, and transporting a 
heavy mail. Your highways and bridges have been aston- 
ishingly improved, showing a praiseworthy liberality on the 
part of the town to that important subject. Your progress 

* Jonathan, the first mechanic in town, and the first male child born in Londonderry. 



112 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

in agriculture, manufactures, and the mechanic arts, exhibits 
striking evidence of the advance of improvement. Look 
abroad now upon the finely-cultivated fields, the substantial 
fences, the comfortable, yea, elegant dwellings, the superb 
manufacturing buildings, the splendid churches and semi- 
naries of learning ; and in view of all these let the mind for 
a moment contrast it with the prospect which presented it- 
self to the eye of the first settler, as he attained the summit 
of the East Mountain, one hundred years ago. Then not a 
human habitation for the eye to repose on over the whole 
extent of this basin-like township, — one unbroken forest 
throughout the eye's most extensive range. No sound of 
music or hum of cheerful industry saluted his ear. It was 
only the howl of the savage beast or the yell of the still 
more savage man, that broke the appalling stillness of the 
forest. What a wonderful change hath a hundred years 
wrought here, and what unshrinking energy of character 
was requisite to induce the commencement of the under- 
taking ! 

Some of the old objects of interest to me in my younger 
days are gone. Their places indeed have been supplied by 
more expensive and elegant structures : still I must say, I 
regret the loss. And let me ask, Mr. President, are you 
quite sure that the loss may not manifest itself in some fu- 
ture time ? I allude. Sir, to the loss of the old church on 
the hill tJicre, and the old beech-tree that stood hard by. I 
look, even at this period of life, upon that spot with a kind 
of superstitious reverence. Many are the noble resolutions 
that young minds have formed under the shade of the old 
beech-tree. Intellectual indolence is the prevailing fault of 
our times. Under the old beech, in my young days, the 
great and the talented men of this town used to assemble, 
and there discuss with distinguished power and ability the 
most important topics. Religion, politics, literature, agri- 
culture, and various other important subjects, were there 
discussed. Well, distinctly well do I remember those debates 
carried on by the Smiths, the Morisons, the Steeles, the 
Holmeses, the Robbes, the Scotts, the Todds, the Millers, 



RECOLLECTIONS OP PETERBOROUGH. 113 

and perhaps I may be excused here for adding the Wilsons 
and others. No absurd proposition or ridiculous idea es- 
caped exposure for a single moment. A debater there had 
to draw himself up close, be nice in his logic and correct 
in his language, to command respectful attention. Abler 
discussion was never listened to any where. Strong thought 
and brilliant conceptions broke forth in clear and select lan- 
guage. They were reading men, thinking men, forcible 
talking men, and sensible men. Bright intellectual sparks 
were constantly emanating from those great native minds, 
and falling upon younger minds, kindled up their slumbering 
energies to subsequent noble exertion. The immediate ef- 
fect of those discussions could be easily traced in the beam- 
ing eye and the agitated muscles of the excited listeners. 
It was obvious to an acute observer that there was a power- 
ful effort going on in many a young mind among the hear- 
ers, to seize, retain and examine some of the grand ideas 
that had been started by the talkers. This rousing of the 
young mind to manly exertion, and aiding it in arriving at 
a consciousness of its own mighty powers, was of great ad- 
vantage where the seeds of true genius had been planted by 
the hand of nature. If any of the Peterborough boys, with- 
in the last thirty years, have attained to any thing like intel- 
lectual greatness, my life on it, they date the commence- 
ment of their progress from the scenes under the old beech- 
tree. A thousand times have I thought, Mr. President, if 
I had the world's wealth at my command, I would cheerful- 
ly have bartered it all for the ability to talk as well as those 
men talked. Antiquity may boast of her schools of philoso- 
phy ; the present may point to its debating clubs and ly- 
ceums, and talk loud as it will of modern improvement : 
give me the sound good sense that rolled unrestrained from 
eloquent lips under the old beech, and it is of more worth 
than them all. I shall always respect the spot where it 
grew, and even now it grieves me to see the greensward 
that sheltered its roots torn too roughly by the plough- 
share. 

10* 



SONNETS. 



BY THOMAS C . U P H A M 



THE MILLENNIAL DAY. 



" They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain : for the earth shall be full of the knowledge 
of the Lord, as the waters that cover the sea." — Isa. xi. 9. 

Upon God's holy mountain all is peace. 

Of clanging arms, and cries, and wail, no sound 

Goes up to mingle with the gentle breeze, 

That bears its perfumed whispers all around. 

Beneath its trees, that spread their blooming light, 

The spotted leopard walks ; the ox is there ; 

The yellow lion stands in conscious might, 

Breathing the dewy and illumined air. 

A little child doth take him by the mane,. 

And leads him forth, and plays beneath his breast. 

Naught breaks the quiet of that blessed domain, 

Naught mars its harmony and heavenly rest: 

Picture divine, and emblem of that day, 

When peace on earth and truth shall hold unbroken sway. 



GOD WORSHIPPED IN HIS WORKS, 

" The heavens declare the glory of God :■ and the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day nnto-day ut- 
tereth speech, and night unto niglit showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their 
voice is not heard." — Ps. xix. 1,. 2yd. 

Men use a different speech in different climes, 

But Nature hath one voice, and only one ; 

Her wandering moon, her stars, her golden sun, 

Her woods and waters, in all lands and times, 

In one deep song proclaim the wondrous story. 

They tell it to each other in the sky. 

Upon the winds they send it sounding high, 

Jehovah's wisdom, goodness, power, and glory ; 

I hear it come from mountain, cliff, and tree. 

Ten thousand voices in one voice united; 

On every side the song encircles me, ^ 

The whole round world reveres and is delighted. 

Ah ! why, when heaven and earth lift up their voice^ 

Ah ! why should man alone nor worship nor rejoice ! 



THE STUDIES OF AN ORATOR. 

BY SAMUEL GIL INI AN BROWN, 

History has been called the " letter of instructions which 
the old generations write and posthumously transmit to the 
new; the message which all mankind deliver to every man; 
the only articulate communication which the past can have 
with the present." It teaches us the wisdom and folly of 
our race ; of ourselves ; for we are only wiser or less foolish 
than our fathers, because we are their sons and not their 
progenitors. In all matters of policy, we know the effect 
of measures only by experiment. It is given to an age, to a 
nation, to develope fully the operation of certain principles, 
in order that the next age and other nations may be wiser. It 
was necessary that our fathers should have been driven from 
the house of bondage, in order that their sons might rejoice 
in the inheritance of freedom. It was needful that the privy 
council of Scotland should have enacted, " that, whereas 
the hoots were the ordinary way to explicate matters relative 
to the government, and that there is now a new invention 
and engine, called the thumbikins, which will be very ef- 
fectual for the purpose and intent aforesaid ; the lords of 
his majesty's privy council do therefore ordain, that when- 
ever any person shall be, by their order, put to the torture, 
the said boots and thumbikins, both shall be applied to them, 
as it shall be found fitting and convenient." This was need- 
ful in the seventeenth century, that the privy council in the 
nineteenth century should allow examination by the oaths of 
witnesses alone. It was needful, sad necessity, that a race of 
doubters should arise, that a whole nation should cut itself 
loose from religion, in order that men might feel that faith 



116 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

is better than skepticism, that government cannot safely 
divorce itself from religion, and, it may be, in order that 
the same people might some time return to a firmer, wiser 
belief of the truth. 

History is the chart of the deliberative orator. It reveals 
to him the quicksands and rocks where the hopes of em- 
pires have been wrecked. It reveals the sources of prosper- 
ty, the sources of misfortune. To him who can read it, it 
offers the suggestions of two hundred generations. It bids 
us beware of the follies of dead nations. To every individ- 
ual it offers, somewhere among its records, encouragement 
to great and good deeds. Would the orator rouse the pa- 
triotic self-devotion of his countrymen 1 History tells him, 
that among the granite mountains of a small European con- 
federacy, a man was found, who, in a perilous contest, dared 
to make a path for his comrades, by gathering " a sheaf of 
Austrian lances" into his own bosom; that, in virtue of this 
generous self-sacrifice, the name of Arnold of Winkelried 
has become famous the world over ; and that for this, and 
other deeds like it, Switzerland is a larger country than 
Russia. Would he speak of the permanency and life of 
truth ? He reads how the sun went down on Egypt and 
the East, and men slept, while it arose on av/akening nations, 
in Italy and England ; he reads the oft-told story, how the 
Philosopher recanted with tears, and the world moved still. 
Would he tell of the direful effects of oppression ? He 
recollects how the pent-up elements lay simmering together 
for a thousand years, till they burst off the incumbent mass, 
and overwhelmed nations. Would he show that revolutions 
are not productive of evil alone 1 He recollects that some- 
times the new order of things has at last proved better than 
the old ; that tlie volcano is a safeguard against the more 
destructive earthquake ; and that over the lava torrent there 
spreads out at length a warm and rich soil. Would he tell 
of liberty unrestrained by moral sentiment, unprotected by 
law 1 He reads of a great nation, recoiling from its own 



THE STUDIES OF AN ORATOR. 117 

frightful image, and rushing for protection, as far as possible, 
to the bosom of the power it had just madly hurled to air. 

It is from an ignorance of what has been, that men com- 
mit so many mistakes, and that the same error, after a larg- 
er or smaller cycle, returns again, like the forgotten fashions 
of our fathers. 

Man acts according to his belief He believes in alche- 
my ; and with haggard visage and wasted sinews toils in 
dark caverns, in the vain hope of transmuting the worthless 
into the precious metals. He believes in a fountain which 
gives perpetual youth ; and straightway — such is the record 
of history — embarks for unexplored lands, searches with an 
energy which commands respect in spite of the folly, and 
pushes on his rugged pilgrimage with an enterprise worthy 
of the best cause. He believes in the insufficiency of his 
own judgment in matters of religion, in the divinely appoint- 
ed supremacy of the priesthood, and for centuries commits 
his conscience and his faith to his spiritual advisers. He 
believes that the Bible is the only and sufficient rule of faith 
and practice, that he may and must examine it, and imme- 
diately he produces the Reformation. 

Poetry cultivates the imagination. The province of the 
imagination is not to separate truth from error, but " to ren- 
der all objects instinct with the inspired breath of human 
passion." It does not demand if things be true independent- 
ly, but if they be true in their relation to other things. It 
does not discover, but enliven. It melts together, into one 
burning mass, the discordant materials thrown into its cru- 
cible. Like the colored light of sunset, it bathes in its own 
hue w^hatever it touches. Discarding technical rules, as 
from its nature averse to them, it adapts means to varying 
circumstances, and seizing upon the hearts of the audience, 
in aid of belief or in spite of belief, binds them in willing 
captivity. It annihilates space and time, brings the distant 
near, draws together the past and the future into the present. 
It warms the heart of the orator. He then speaks because 
he feels, not in order that he may feel. The influence flows 



118 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

from within, outward, — not from without, inward. It tears 
the orator from considerations of himself, bears him above 
himself, above rule, criticism, apology, audience, every thing 
but the subject. The orator stands like an enchanter in 
the midst of spirits that are too mighty for him. He alone 
could evoke them from the dark abyss ; but even he is but 
half their master. He alone can demand the secrets of fu- 
turity ; but then he can speak only the words that they give 
him. He inspires others only as he is inspired himself 

Logic is necessary for that severe form of speech which 
carries power in its front, and, by its very calmness and re- 
pression of earth-born passions, seems to belong to a higher 
sphere. It must form the bone and muscle of an extended 
discourse. Imagination clothes the skeleton with beauty, 
breathes health into the rigid muscles, lights up the eye, 
loosens the tongue, excites that rapid and vehement decla- 
mation which makes the speaker to be forgotten, the sub- 
ject and the subject only to be thought of, betrays no pres- 
ence of art, because in fact art is swallowed up in the whirl- 
pool of excited feeling. Besides, there are truths with which 
logic has no concern ; '' truths which wake to perish 
never ; " truths to be directly apprehended, as well as truths 
to be proved ; feelings as well as facts. Love and passion 
and fear laugh at demonstration. " Logic," says one, '' is 
good, but not the best. The irrefragable Doctor, with his 
chains of inductions, his corollaries, dilemmas, and other 
dunning logical diagrams and apparatus, will cast you a 
beautiful horoscope, and speak you reasonable things ; nev- 
ertheless, the stolen jewel which you wanted him to find 
you, is not forthcoming. Often by some winged word — 
winged as the thunderbolt is — of a Luther, a Napoleon, a 
Goethe, shall we see the difficulty split asunder, and its se- 
cret laid bare ; while the Irrefragable, with all his logical 
roots, hews at it, and hovers round it, and finds it on all 
sides too hard for him." 

Poetry not only offers us the language of emotion, but 
produces emotion, and emotion elicits thought. It has been 



THE STUDIES OF AN ORATOR. 119 

well remarked of the great English dramatist, that he has 
been true to nature, in placing the " greater number of his 
profoundest maxims and general truths, both political and 
moral, not in the mouths of men at ease, but of men under 
the influence of passion, when the mighty thoughts over- 
master and become the tyrants of the mind which has brought 
them forth." Then the mind rushes, by intuition, upon the 
truth ; scorns subtle and useless distinctions ; disregards 
entirely the husk, seizes and appropriates the kernel. Emo- 
tion in the speaker produces emotion in the hearer. You 
must feel, you must sympathize with him. Your mind darts 
with the speaker's, right through the textures which cover 
up the subject, and grasps the heart of it. How deadening 
are the words of some passionless men ! Like a dull mass 
of inert matter, their lifeless thought stretches across the 
path of your spirit. Different, indeed, are the words of an- 
other, to whom has been given some spark of ethereal fire. 
His words become to you a law of life. They start your 
sluggish spirit from its dull equilibrium, and its living wheels 
shall thenceforth move whithersoever the spirit that is in 
them moves. Rarely has been found that combination of 
qualities necessary to the greatest orator, — dignity, enthu- 
siasm, wit, the power of sarcasm, the power of soothing, 
philosophy which does not despise imagination, imagination 
which does not spurn the restraints of philosophy. 

Such should be the studies of the orator. The great 
orator must be a great man, — a severe student in broad 
and deep studies. He must thoroughly know his materials, 
his models, the history of his race, and most of all, the heart 
within him. Then shall he have power to struggle in the 
noblest contest, — that of mind with mind, for the noblest 
object, — the well-being of his race. 



ROUSSEAU AND COWPER. 



BY CARLOS WILCOX. 



Rousseau could weep : yes, with a heart of stone, 
The impious sophist could recline beside 
The pure and peaceful lake, and muse alone 
On all its loveliness at eventide : 
On its small running waves in purple dyed 
Beneath bright clouds or all the glowing sky, 
On the white sails that o'er its bosom glide, 
And on surrounding mountains wild and high, 
Till tears unbidden gushed from his enchanted eye. 

But his were not the tears of feeling fine, 
Of grief or love ; at fancy's flash they flowed, 
Like burning drops from some proud lonely pine 
By lightning fired ; his heart with passion glowed 
Till it consumed his life, and yet he showed 
A chilling coldness both to friend and foe. 
As Etna, with its centre an abode 
Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow 
Of all its desert brow the living world below. 

Was he but justly wretched from his crimes ? 
Then why was Cowper's anguish oft as keen. 
With all the heaven-born virtue that sublimes 
Genius and feeling, and to things unseen 
Lifts the pure heart through clouds that roll between 
The earth and skies, to darken human hope ? 
Or wherefore did those clouds thus intervene 
To render vain Faith's lifted telescope. 
And leave him in thick gloom his weary way to grope .'' 



He too could give himself to musing deep : 
By the calm lake at evening he could stand, 
Lonely and sad, to see the moonlight sleep 
On all its breast by not an insect fanned. 
And hear low voices on the far-off" strand, 
Or through the still and dewy atmosphere 
The pipe's soft tones, waked by some gentle hand, 
From fronting shore and woody island near 
In echoes quick returned, more mellow and more clear. 



ROUSSEAU AND COW PER. 121 



And he could cherish wild and mournful dreams, 
In the pine grove, when low the full moon fair 
Shot under lofty tops her level beams, 
Stretching the shades of trunks erect and bare, 
In stripes drawn parallel with order rare, 
As of some temple vast or colonnade, 
While on green turf made smooth without his care 
He wandered o'er its stripes of light and shade, 
And heard the dying day -breeze all the boughs pervade. 

'T ^vas thus in nature's bloom and solitude 
He nursed his grief till nothing could assuage; 
'T was thus his tender spirit was subdued, 
Till in life's toils it could no more engage ; 
And his had been a useless pilgrimage. 
Had he been gifted with no sacred power. 
To send his thoughts to every future age ; 
But he is gone where grief will not devour, 
Where beauty will not fade, and skies will never lower. 



u 



THE CENTENNIAL OE PETERBOROUGH. 

FROM AN ADDRESS AT THE FIRST CELEBRATION. 
BY JOHN H. M ORISON. 

A HUNDRED years ago this whole valley, from mountain 
to mountain, from the extreme north to the extreme southern 
limit, was one unbroken forest. The light soil upon the 
banks of the Contoocook was covered with huge and lofty 
pines, while the rocky hills and rich loamy lands were shad- 
ed with maple, beech and birch, interspersed with ash, elm, 
hemlock, fir, oak, cherry, bass, and other kinds of wood. 
Bogs and swamps were far more extensive then than now ; 
and the woods in many parts, on account of the fallen tim- 
ber and thick underbrush, were almost impassable. The 
deer and the moose roamed at large ; the wolf and bear 
prowled about the hills ; the turkey and partridge whirred 
with heavy flight from tree to tree, while the duck swam 
undisturbed upon the lonely, silent waters. The beaver 
and the freshet made the only dam that impeded the streams 
in their whole course from the highlands to the Merrimac ; 
the trout, pickerel and salmon moved through them unmo- 
lested, while the old Monadnoc, looking down in every di- 
rection upon almost interminable forests, saw in the hazy 
distance the first feeble encroachments upon the dominion 
which he had retained over his wild subjects for more than 
a thousand years. 

That an attempt was made to settle this town as early as 
1739 there can be no doubt. The authority of the petition 
for incorporation as a town, of which, through the Secretary 
of State, we have been favored with a copy, is on this point 



THE CENTENNIAL OF PETERBOROUGH. 123 

decisive. The town was surveyed and laid out by Joseph 
Hale, Jr. in 1737. Of the party that came in 1739 no me- 
morial remains. Probably they were driven away before 
any considerable clearing had been made. In 1742 five 
men,* each with an axe and a small supply of provisions 
upon his shoulders, came from Lunenburg, Massachusetts, 
and cleared a few small patches of land near the old meet- 
ing house. They abandoned the settlement at, or more 
probably considerably before the alarm of war in 1744. 
Soon after this party, three men cut down the brush and 
girdled the large trees on the hill near the Ritchie-place at 
the south part of the town, but left before they had put in 
their seed. They probably returned the next year with 
Thomas Morison and John Swan. It could not have been 
later than 1744, and must have been at a period when there 
were no other settlers here. For it is a story often told by 
the children of Thomas Morison, and which cannot well 
be doubted, that soon after they came, several Indians call- 
ed upon them just after breakfast, appeared friendly, and 
after tarrying a short time, went away. When the cook, 
however, came from chopping to prepare a dinner for the 
party, he found not only the pot which he had left upon the 
fire robbed of its contents, but all their provisions carried 
off; and they were obliged to go to Townsend, twenty-five 
miles, for a dinner ; which they would not have done had 
there been other inhabitants here at the time. 

In 1744 the town was entirely abandoned, and the settle- 
ment was not resumed till the peace of 1749. Indeed, I 
have found little evidence that families f had established 
themselves here previous to that period, and this presump- 

* The traditions are by no means distinct, and it is possible that this party came as 
early as 1739. They may not have staid more than a single season. Their names, 
according to Mr. Dunbar, (see N. H. Historical Collections, Vol. I, p. 129,) were 
William Robbe, Alexander Scott, Hugh Gregg, William Gregg and Samuel Stinson. 
John Todd, senior, a high authority in the antiquities of our town, says they were 
William Scott, William Robbe, William Wallace, William Mitchell and Samuel 
Stinson. The second party were William M'Nee, John Taggart, William Ritchie. 

t Catharine Gregg, mother of Gov. Miller, is said to have been baptized here in 1743. 



124 the; NEW-JIAMPSHIRE BOOIi. 

tion is confirmed by the fact that the first male child, John 
Ritchie, was not born till February 22, 1751. All that 
was done therefore previous to the war of '44 was only to 
prepare the way for the future settlement, which was com- 
menced in earnest in 1749. From that time the colony 
was rapidly increased by new accessions from abroad, till in 
'59 there were forty-five or fifty families, from Lunenburg, 
Londonderry, and some immediately from Ireland. They 
all, however, belonged to the same stock. They came to 
this country from the north of Ireland, and were usually 
called Scotch-Irish. 

I have now before me a list of four hundred and eighty 
emigrants, who, scattered through sixteen different States, 
and if not greatly distinguished, yet holding a respectable 
place, retain these same strong features. Here, though at 
times we have felt as if strangers who came among us could 
only spy out the nakedness of the land after the fruitful 
gatherings of the harvest, there is still, enriched as the town 
has been by new accessions, enough to perpetuate the char- 
acter which we have received from our fathers. Their faults 
were usually virtues carried too far. The strong mind some- 
times became dogmatical, impatient, overbearing ; their 
courage became rashness, their generosity extravagance, 
their wit levity, their piety was sometimes proud, formal, 
severe ; and all these incongruous excesses were not seldom 
mingled in the same mind. Such were our fathers, — the 
substantial elements of their characters well deserving atten- 
tion, especially in these days of timid virtue ; their faults, 
partly belonging to the times, but more the effect of strong 
feelings without the advantages of early discipline. At the 
same time they had in them the rudiments of a real refine- 
ment, warm, kind and gentle feelings, — and specimens of 
politeness were found among them, worthy of the patri- 
archal age. 

A century has gone by since the solitude of our forests 
was first broken by the sound of their axe ; and within that 
century what events have successively risen upon the world ! 



THE CENTENNIAL OF PETERBOROUGH. 125 

The old French war, — our own Revolution, one of the few 
great events in the history of man ; Washington and his as- 
sociates, — they have come and gone, and the noise of their 
actions is like the distant murmurings of the sea, heard in- 
land, when the storm is over, and the waves are sinkino- to 
their repose. Then there was the French Revolution, filling 
the world at once with hope and terror, — the rise and fall 
of that wonderful man, who beginning and ending his life 
in a narrow island, dethroned monarchs, shook empires, 
ploughed through kingdoms in his bloody course. Durino- 
all this while our mountain retreat remained, answering only 
with a faint echo to the tumults that were agitating all the 
great interests of the world. The common incidents of 
time passed over it. Our fathers sowed, and with the pa- 
tience of hope waited the result of their labors ; they laugh- 
ed and mourned, performed or neglected the great work 
that was before them, and went off one by one to their re- 
ward. All of the first, and almost all of the second 2:enera- 
tion are now gone. The few that linger with us will soon 
be gathered to their fathers, and no link will be left connect- 
ing us with the first settlers of our town. They are goino-, 
they are gone ; a strongly marked race — bold as the crago-y 
summits of our mountains, generous as our richest fields • 
impetuous as the torrents that come tumbling down our hills 
kind and gentle as the same streams winding throucrh the 
valleys, and watering the green meadows. 

They, and all that they loved, hoped or feared, their in- 
telligence and strength, their warm sympathies and strong 
hearts, their loud jests and solemn prayers, are gone from 
their old homes. Their bones repose on yonder bleak hill- 
side, near the spot where they were wont to assemble, as a 
single family, to worship the God of their fathers. Blessings 
rest upon the spot ! The old meeting-house, as if it could 
not longer in its loneliness look down day and night upon 
the graves of those who had once filled its walls with prayer 
and song, has gone like them, and the ploughshare has re- 
moved every mark of the place where it stood. The grave- 
11* 



126 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

yard alone remains. It is overgrown with wild bushes, 
briers and thistles. There let them in summer spread their 
shade over the ashes of the dead, and in winter let the winds 
whistle and howl through them, a fitting emblem of the des- 
olation which must sooner or later strip off every earthly 
hope. May the blessings of heaven rest still on that spot. 
Fresher tears may be shed, and more sumptuous ornaments 
prepared for the new ground, but many are the hearts of 
children and brothers and parents which still cling to the 
old grave-yard, bleak and wild and lonely as it is. And 
some there are, who, when the paleness of death is creeping 
under their thin gray locks, shall leave the parting charge 
of the patriarch : " Bury me with my fathers on the old 
hill-side. There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife ; 
there they buried Isaac and Rebecca his wife; there I 
buried Leah, and there let my bones be laid." 

A hundred years have gone by. What unlooked-for events 
in the great wheel of human life shall rise before another 
century has closed, it were vain for us to inquire. But 
when a remote generation shall come next to celebrate this 
day, not one of us, not one of our children, except as a gray 
and wrinkled relic from the past, shall be found among the 
living. The Monadnoc then, as now, will catch the first 
glimmerings of morning, and the last rays of evening will 
linger upon his bald and rugged brow ; the Contoocook will 
journey onward to the sea ; but of all that our hands have 
wrought and our hearts have loved, not a vestige will re- 
main as we now behold it. What future good or ill, what 
storms of civil violence or public war may pass over the land 
we know not. But so may we live, that the inheritance 
which we have received of freedom, truth, intelligence, vir- 
tue and faith, may be handed down unspotted to those who 
shall succeed ; and the blessing of Almighty God will go 
with it, and go also with us. 



THE COURSE OF CULTURE 



BY THOMAS G. FESSENDEN. 



Survey the world, through every zone, 

From Lima to Japan, 
In lineaments of liffht 't is show^n 

That culture makes the man. 
By manual culture one attains 

What industry may claim, 
Another's mental toil and pains 

Attenuate his frame. 

Some plough and plant the teeming soil, 

Some cultivate the arts ; 
And some devote a life of toil 

To tilling heads and hearts. 
Some train the adolescent mind, 

While buds of promise blow, 
And see each nascent twig inclined 

The way the tree should grow. 

The first man, and the first of men 

Were tillers of the soil. 
And that was mercy's mandate then, 

Which destined man to moil. 
Indulgence preludes fell attacks 

Of merciless disease, 
And sloth extends on fiery racks 

Her listless devotees. 

Hail, Horticulture ! heaven-ordained, 

Of every art the source. 
Which man has polished, life sustained, 

Since Time commenced his course. 
Where waves thy wonder-working wand, 

What splendid scenes disclose ! 
The blasted heath, the arid strand. 

Out-bloom the gorgeous rose. 

Even in the seraph-sex is thy 

Munificence described ; 
And Milton says in lady's eye 

Is heaven identified. 



128 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 



A seedling sprung from Adam's side, 

A most celestial shoot ! 
Became of Paradise the pride, 

And bore a world of fruit. 

The lily, rose, carnation, blent 

By Flora's magic power, 
And tulip, feebly represent 

So elegant a flower : 
Then surely, bachelors, ye ought 

In season to transfer 
Some sprig of this sweet " touch-me-not,' 

To grace your own parterre. 

And every gardener should be proud, 

With tenderness and skill, 
If haply he may be allowed 

This precious plant to till. 
All that man has, had, hopes, can have, 

Past, promised, or possessed. 
Are fruits which culture gives or gave 

At industry's behest. 



KNOWLEDGE OE ONE ANOTHER IN A 
EUTURE STATE. 



BY REV. JOHN EMERY ABBOT. 

[Bom at Exeter, August 6, 1793. Died October 6, 1818.] 

The thought of heaven is often uninteresting from con- 
sidering it as a state of solemn uniformity, in which the 
perfected spirits are in continual rest, or employed only in 
casting their crowns of glory at the foot of the throne, and 
celebrating, in one unwearied song, the praises of God and 
the Lamb. It is true, we read of a rest which remains for 
the people of God ; but is it not a rest alone from evil and 
anxiety, from temptation and sorrow, from pain and sin 1 
Is it designed to exclude all active exercise of those noble 
powers, with which the Father of our being has blessed us? 
Are the capacities of exertion, of improvement, of benefit- 
ing others, which have been formed on earth with so much 
care, to be formed altogether in vain ? Is not this world 
rather a scene of education, to fit us for accomplishing with 
more exalted powers the will of God, and acting as minis- 
ters of his mercy in higher regions of his universe ? 

The cultivation of particular affections, of the affections 
arising from the parental, filial, and conjugal relations, is 
not only the dictate of nature, but the command of duty. 
And is the culture of this part of our character to be entire- 
ly useless hereafter 1 Are none of the feelings which nature 
and Christianity have taught us to nourish, to remain ? 
What is to destroy these affections, what to turn them to 
coldness and indifference ? Not surely a mere passage 
through the grave ; not our admission to the kingdom of 



130 THE NEW-HAMP SHIRE BOOK. 

joy and love. When corruption is turned to incorruption, 
is the heart to be laid waste ? are the best and purest of our 
social affections to be lost ? and, with the weaknesses of 
mortality, much which now ennobles and blesses our nature, 
to be annihilated for ever ? We think of a future state as 
too different in its nature from the present. Exalted, glori- 
ous, and happy indeed it is, beyond conception ; exempt 
from frailty, freed for ever from sorrow, from trial, and from 
sin ; but the sources of its happiness must be adapted to 
our nature, and will be such in kind as those which the 
righteous find on earth. Death does not miraculously change 
our characters. It only changes the mode of our existence, 
and introduces us to a holier and happier world ; and we 
enter it with the dispositions which we have nourished, and 
the capacities of enjoyment which our care has improved. 
And as God has created us social beings, as much of our 
highest and purest delight arises from the intercourses of 
friendship on earth, and as the culture of our social feelings 
is so important a part of our present duty and of our prepara- 
tion for heaven ; it is surely most reasonable to believe that 
an exalted communion with perfected spirits will be a source 
of happiness hereafter, and that the friends who have been 
dear to us on earth, will, if we and they are worthy, be 
again restored to our knowledge and affection. 

The idea is full of consolation, and of encouragement to 
duty. If we weep for the friends who have departed and 
who sleep in Jesus, we cannot sorrow without hope. They 
have only passed to their reward a little before us, and soon 
shall we meet them again. Though they have left us, we 
are not forgotten by them, nor is their interest in us destroy- 
ed. If, then, we have friends now in heaven ; if our thoughts 
can recur to a parent on whom our infant eyes had hardly 
rested, or whose form has now faded from the remembrance 
of our youth ; if there be a friend there, once dear to us as 
our own souls, and who left us widowed and desolate ; if 
there be a child there, on whom all our earthly hopes had 



THE FUTURE STATE. 131 

rested, whose steps to the grave we had watched with unut- 
terable anguish, and whose departure bowed us to the dust ; 
if we desire to meet them again, let us strive to imitate their 
virtues, and follow the bright path of glory by which they 
have ascended. Let us cherish the sacred remembrance. 
Let us feel that now there is a circle which connects us 
with a better world, and often meditate on what they are, 
and what we may hereafter be. 



PRAYER. 



BY NATHANIEL A. HAVEN. 



Great God ! at midnight's solemn hour, 
I own thy goodness and thy power ; 
But bending low before thy throne, 
I pray not for myself alone. 

T pray for hcr^ my dearest friend, 
For her my fervent prayers ascend ; 
And while to thee my vows I bring, 
For her my warmest wishes spring. 

While dark and silent rolls the night, 
Protect iier with thy heavenly might ; 
Thy curtain round her pillow spread, 
And circling angels guard her bed. 

Let peaceful slumbers press her eyes. 
Till morning beams in splendor rise ; 
And pure and radiant as that beam. 
Be the light vision of her dream. 

Let each succeeding morn impart 
New pleasures to her tranquil heart; 
And richer blessings crown the night. 
Than met the view at morning light. 

Whate'er my swelling heart desires, 
When fervent prayer to Heaven aspires, 
Whate'er has warmed my fancy's glow. 
May she, with tenfold richness, know. 

O God ! may she thy laws fulfil, 
And live and die thy favorite still; 
Live to enjoy thy bounteous hand. 
And die to join the seraph hand. 



THE MILITIA OP THE REVOLUTION. 

FROM A SPEECH IN THE UNITED STATES SENATE. 
BY HENRY HUBBARD. 

I WOULD ask, on what ground shall those who served in 
the militia during the war of the revolution be excluded 
from the benefit of the pension system ? Can any good 
reason be assigned for their exclusion, which will not apply 
with equal force to the Continental as well as to the State 
troops 7 

No body of troops were more patriotic, no men were 
more ardent in the prosecution of the war of the revolution, 
no men in the public service endured more or suffered more, 
no men were clothed less, fed less or paid less than they 
were. In every point of view, they have as strong claims 
upon the justice and gratitude of the country, as any of the 
surviving soldiers of the revolution. 

It must be well known by every individual conversant 
with the history of the times, that great reliance was placed 
on the militia of the country, for defensive operations, for 
the sacred preservation of public freedom, for the mainten- 
ance of those rights and immunities dear to every true 
American. The men who composed the militia most rich- 
ly merit the favor of the government. They were doomed 
to bear most emphatically their full share of the burdens of 
the war. They w^ere owners as well as cultivators of the 
soil ; they were tax payers of the republic. When their 
country called for physical means, they promptly obeyed 
that call. At the bidding of their government, they left the 
12 



134 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

plough for the tented field. On any emergency, they left 
the quiet and safety of their homes, to share in the danger 
of the battle. They left their own firesides, to mingle in 
the severer duties of the army. 

From April, 1775, to October, 1781, the militia of the 
whole country were required to be in constant readiness for 
active service. They knew not at what hour, on what^day, 
or in what week their services would be demanded. They 
slept upon their arms. They went forth to the field of la- 
bor with their arms by their side. Early and late, they were 
prepared to meet the enemies of their country. Their pe- 
cuniary means, their accumulated substance, all were offer- 
ed at the altar of patriotism, to meet the exigencies of the 
republic. Nothing was withholden from her use, which 
could contribute to her advantage. The enemies at home, 
the foes from within, required the unremitted watchfulness 
of the militia. To expose the treachery of toryism demand- 
ed the exercise of all their vigilance, their firmness, their 
perseverance. 

The peculiar services and sacrifices of the militia during 
the war of the revolution give to that class a powerful claim 
upon the justice of the common country. For these services, 
for these sacrifices, they could not have been paid. The 
debt is yet due ; it still remains unsatisfied ; and on every 
consideration, the militia are equally well entitled to the 
benefit of the pension system as any other class of revolu- 
tionary soldiers. 

It was the pure patriotism, it was the unwavering devo- 
tion to the best interests of the republic, it was the virtue 
and the valor of the militia, that gave to our cause an im- 
pulse which was irresistible, an impulse which the whole 
physical force of England, aided by her subsidized Hessians, 
proved wholly incompetent to control and to vanquish. 

The battles of Lexington, Concord, Bunker Hill, taught 
the enemy that the soil of freemen could not be invaded with 
impunity, that the spirit of freemen could never be subdued 



THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. 135 

by skill however consummate, by force however powerful. 
The enemy then saw and felt too much not to believe that 
the sacred soil of freemen might be run over, but could not 
be conquered. Were it necessary to advert to events to 
show forth the value of the militia, I would direct your at- 
tention to every great battle that was fought in the war of 
the revolution. 

At the north, it was the militia that gave a turn to our 
hostile operations, which inspired confidence in the cause 
of America. The battle of Bennington, under the brave 
Stark, of my own State, with his regiments of militia, after 
a series of disaster and defeat had attended the army in 
Canada and upon the lakes, served to animate the drooping 
spirit of despondency, to fill the soul of patriotism with hope, 
with confidence, with courage. 

In the south as well as in the north, the militia of the 
country was equally distinguished for the purity of its patri- 
otism and the ardor of its zeal. If any invidious foe to our 
country has cast imputations upon the bravery and the con- 
duct of our militia at any particular period of that war, it 
should be replied, that want of discipline not want of heroism 
subjected our militia in certain memorable battles to great 
disadvantages. 

There was no cowardice, no treachery in the composition 
of the militia. In every battle fought, in every victory won 
they were breast to breast, side by side with State and Con- 
tinental troops. When the enemy of the country cried 
*' havoc and let slip the dogs of war," the militia came forth 
in their might. All the battles of 1775, before a regular 
army could have been organized, of Lexington, of Bunker 
Hill, of Ticonderoga, of St. Johns and of Norfolk, evince 
the most unwavering courage and conduct. If a doubt 
could be supposed to exist as to the value of the militia ser- 
vice in the war of the revolution, I would refer to the battles of 
Fort Moultrie, of Bennington, of Saratoga, of Long Island, 
of Trenton, of Germantown, and of York Town. These 



136 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

engagements speak a language which cannot be mistaken 
and which will not be forgotten. 

I will here advert to one fact, showing the general enthu- 
siasm which pervaded the whigs of that day in favor of the 
cause of their country. At the great battle of Saratoga, 
when the hope of success had nerved the arm of every soldier, 
the commanding general addressed a communication to the 
Assembly of New Hampshire, then in session, for more men. 
The Assembly was under the direction of our venerated 
Langdon. The communication was read, and without de- 
lay the field of legislation was exchanged for the field of 
battle. Langdon and his friends flew to the aid of Gates 
and of their country. Victory followed. Burgoyne was 
captured, and public confidence was revived. And now, 
Sir, is there any man in this committee who would wish to 
humble that noble, proud and patriotic spirit, by withhold- 
ing justice from the militia and extending it to the troops of 
the Continental army ? I will not believe it. I cannot for 
a moment believe that at this day of general prosperity, the 
representatives of this free republic would be or could be 
disposed by such partial legislation to do such great in- 
justice. 

We are now happy at home, enjoying every blessing which 
can pertain to freemen. We are respected abroad, partici- 
pating in every right guarantied to the most honored nation. 
We cannot fail to realize, that every interest of our beloved 
country is most prosperous. Every citizen in this great re- 
public is made secure in the enjoyment of all his rights, by 
the moral influence of our free institutions. How wonder- 
ful have been the practical effects of the American revolu- 
tion ! How great has been the advance of our general pop- 
ulation, the march of improvement, the progress of the arts ! 
Our extended and extending West comes forth in all her 
majesty, in all her physical and moral power, to bear evi- 
dence to the wondering world of the great and glorious 
fruits of the revolution. The cause of learning, the pure 



THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. 137 

spirit of Christianity trace their astonishing advancement to 
the impulse received at that eventful period. The science 
of self-government, the free institutions of our land, rest 
upon a deep and enduring foundation, laid in the war of the 
revolution. In every latitude, in every region, in every part 
of Christendom, are to be found the effects of American 
genius, American enterprise, and of American industry. 

And while we contemplate the universal prosperity and 
happiness which pervades our land, can we fail to take a 
retrospect, and bring to mind, by whose efforts and energies, 
by whose services and sacrifices these invaluable blessings 
have been secured ? In the dark days of the revolution our 
beloved country was poor, of limited resources, little able to 
fulfil to the letter her engagements ; her soldiers were 
neither fed nor clothed nor paid according to the stipula- 
tion of the government ; the general currency of the country 
was greatly depreciated. These unfailing friends could not 
at such a time have received their honest, their just de- 
mands. 

Nevertheless their devotion to her cause suffered no 
change. Through good report and through evil report, 
in her prosperity and in her adversity, they went for their 
country and for nothing but their country. 

Let us then unite with one mind and with one heart to 
effect a satisfactory payment of this debt, a debt which we 
should most willingly admit, a debt which our country is 
now well able satisfactorily to discharge. And shall we 
stop, the descendants of our revolutionary fathers, the chil- 
dren of the patriots of that day ; shall we, freemen, the na- 
tive sons of the soil, stop to calculate the dollars and cents, 
the pounds and the pence which the passage of this bill may 
annually draw from our treasury. God forbid. I would 
have never entered upon any such inglorious work, had it 
not have been time and again reiterated, that the passage 
of such a bill as this would impoverish our country, bring 
ruin upon our republic. I would pass this bill, were I cer* 
12* 



138 THE NEW -II A MPS HIRE BOOK. 

tain that the consequent exaction upon me would require 
the surrender of the better half of my estate. I would then 
have left the consolation that the claims of our revolutionary 
patriots had been satisfied, without whose triumphant efforts 
every thing here would have been valueless ; political rights 
and political privileges would have been any thing but po- 
litical blessings. 

But calculations have been made. It is true that all 
computations touching this subject must be founded some- 
what in conjecture. It is impossible to arrive at absolute 
certainty. 

The sum of the whole matter is, that if this bill should 
now pass, for a few years to come a million of dollars may 
be required to carry its purposes into full effect. But it 
can only be required for a few, a very few years. The sur- 
viving soldiers of the revolution have already passed that 
boundary which has been assigned by high authority as the 
duration of human existence. 

If by reason of their strength they should continue until 
four score years, yet v/ill their strength be labor and sorrow. 
They nmst be soon cut off; their places will soon know 
them no more for ever. The day of their departure must 
be at hand — their years must be nearly numbered. While 
I am now speaking, I am forcibly reminded that even this 
short delay may operate to the injury of some faithful vete- 
ran of the revolution. I am reminded that, while I am stay- 
ing the progress of this bill, the spirits of many of those un- 
failing friends of the country may have mingled with the 
kindred spirits of just men made perfect. I am reminded 
by the journals of the day, by every newspaper that I take 
into my hands, that here and there the brave founders of the 
republic are daily increasing the congregation of the dead. 
I am reminded by the kind letter of a reverend clergyman 
in this city, received since I came into this hall, that one 
for whose relief a bill had been prepared has been gathered 
to his fathers. I cannot fail to be reminded by these event? 



THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. 139 

that I ought to proceed no farther. I would then most sol- 
emnly urge this committee not to delay the passage of this 
bill ; and my fervent prayer to the Father of the faithful 
would be, that many may long live to enjoy its benefits ; 
that they may be induced to call around them their chil- 
dren and their children's children, and by one more patri- 
otic effort rivet their affections still stronger to the republic, 
by pointing out to them this act of the justice and gratitude 
of their beloved country. 



BOCHIM, 



BY MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON 



' And they called the name of that place Bochim ; (weeping ;) and they sacrificed there unto the 
Lord." — Judges ii. 5. 



Not in our sunny paths altars we raise, 
Not where the roses blooaa offer we praise ; 
"Where the dark cypress boughs shadow our way, 
Where the dark willow swings — there do we pray. 

Not when the morning light opens the flowers, 
Not when in glory roll day's perfect hours ; 
"When the last rosy light ladeth away, 
"When the dew shuts the flower — then do we pray. 

Not when the circle is whole at the hearth. 

And bright faces gladden the home of their birth ; 

"When the turf covers or seas bear away 

Those we have watched over — then do we pray. 

Not when the heart we love turns to us, true. 
When the bright morning brings love, again new j 
When the heart trusted in turneth away. 
And the eye answereth not — then do we pray. 

Not when the light of bliss shines on the brow, 
Not when hope whispers, sweet, "ever as now;" 
When the heart sinketh and hope dies away. 
When the eye weepeth sore — then do we pray. 

Beautiful, then, be our valley of tears. 
With altars the heart in its wretchedness rears; 
Nor grieve we, nor pine, that in grief we must share, 
Since our valley of tears is a temple of prayer. 



INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL IMPROVEMENT. 

FROM AN ADDRESS TO THE STUDENTS OF BOWDOIN COLLEGE. 



BY JESSE APPLETON, D. D. 

[Born at New Ipswich, November 17, 1772. Died at Brunswick, Me.; 



In the composition of human beings we distinguish the 
body, the intellect, and the heart. The cultivation of these 
demands our attention in proportion to their respective im- 
portance. Of bodily powers, agility and physical strength 
are the principal if not the only constituents. By the intel- 
lect we perceive, compare, abstract, and form conclusions. 
Its province extends to moral not less than to other re- 
lations. Moral ideas, together with their relations, are as 
truly objects of intellect, as are ideas of number or quantity. 
Perceiving these relations, we discern the reality of duty 
and the fitness of actions. But though the obligations of 
virtue are discerned by the understanding, the understand- 
ing is not the seat of moral virtue. There is no conceiva- 
ble state of the intellect, of which we can predicate either 
virtue or vice. Moral dispositions or affections are distinct 
from the understanding ; and in these consist whatever in 
accountable beings is worthy of praise or blame. 

On this distinction are grounded those few remarks, 
which the present interesting occasion gives me an oppor- 
tunity of addressing to you, relative to that union, which 
ought ever to be maintained between piety and good morals 
on the one hand, and literature and science on the other. 
Mind, however capacious, if perverted, does not raise its 
possessor so much above brute animals, as it leaves him in- 
ferior to the man of moral goodness. 



143 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

It being certain, that the cultivation of the intellectual 
powers does not necessarily imply virtue, either in princi- 
ple or practice, I request you to look attentively at the dif- 
ferent effects on civil society, produced by literature and 
science, as they are combined or not with sentiments of re- 
ligion. To whom is the cause of social order and human 
happiness most indebted, — to such philosophers as Bou- 
langer, Condorcet, and Dupuis, or to Locke, Newton, and 
Sir William Jones? None of these distinguished charac- 
ters lived without effect. The influence of their examples 
and writings has been discovered in families : it has been 
felt in deliberate assemblies, by nations, and by the whole 
civilized world. In regard to the latter, their wonderful 
powers were employed either directly or indirectly to estab- 
lish those great principles which lie at the foundation of 
religion, both natural and revealed. "Whether they investi- 
gated the laws of mind or of matter, they considered them 
as originating with an intelligent Lawgiver, of whose exis- 
tence and agency they discovered new evidence, in propor- 
tion as they passed beyond the boundaries by which human 
knowledge had been previously circumscribed. In the vic- 
tories which they gained over ignorance and error, they ded- 
icated their richest spoils to the Author of nature, " the 
knowledge and veneration of whom," says Mr. Locke, " is 
the chief end of all our thoughts, and the proper business of 
all our understandings." 

If you have any doubts of the effects resulting from tal- 
ents and science, unconnected with moral sentiments and 
feelings, consider what has rendered the European conti- 
nent, for the last twenty years, a scene of misery, revolu- 
tion, and war. Men of depraved character, possessing that 
influence which strong powers, science, and an enterpris- 
ing, restless temper seldom fail to bestow, diffused over Eu- 
rope that spirit of atheism and misrule which has strewed 
with mighty ruins the fairest part of the globe. The four 
winds have indeed striven on the great deep : and though 



INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL IMPROVEMENT. 143 

the tempest is hushed, and the surges are now subsiding, 
we behold, on a widely-extended ocean, the fragments of 
scattered navies, and many human beings struggling be- 
tween life and death. 

Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto 

Arma virum, tabulaeq ; et Troia gaza per undas. 

The same effects, in a proportionate degree, will be pro- 
duced, wherever the understanding is cultivated, and the 
fruits of the heart are permitted to shoot up in the wild- 
ness of nature. What infidels of uncommon powers have 
accomplished in the courts of princes or in the mass of a 
nation, others of ordinary growth may achieve in their own 
vicinity or village. 

There is another point of view, in which the importance 
of uniting religion with your studies will be farther appa- 
rent. A very elegant and perspicacious inquirer into the 
philosophy of mind, has mentioned among the advantages 
derived from the reading of fictitious narratives, " that by 
exhibitions of characters a little elevated above the common 
standard, they have a tendency to cultivate the taste in life; 
to quicken our disgust at what is mean or offensive, and to 
form the mind insensibly to elegance and dignity." Now, 
if it tends to purify and elevate the mind to contemplate 
fictitious representations of human excellence, to how much 
greater extent, as well as more certainly and constantly, 
will the similar effect be produced by the habitual contem- 
plation of an ever-present and immutable God ! a character 
which, to use the language of a living author, " borrows 
splendor from all that is fair, subordinates to itself all that 
is great, and sits enthroned on the riches of the universe." 

Nor ought it to escape your notice, that the strongest 
motives to cultivate both the intellectual and moral powers, 
are involved in the belief that we shall exist, and become 
immortal beyond the grave. If you, who now possess the 
powers and execute the functions of intelligent agents, are 



144 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

by the next fever or the next casualty to be extinguished 
for ever ; if there be nothing in you which the fire cannot 
consume nor the worm devour, there is indeed less ex- 
citement to laborious study. For who would take much 
pains to trim a taper which shines but for a moment, and 
can never be lighted again 1 But if mind is capable of 
endless progression in knowledge, endless approximations 
to the Supreme Intelligence ; if, in the midst of unremitting 
success, objects of new interest will forever be presented, 
what prospects are opened to the view of man ! what strong 
inducements to application and research ! 

Few scenes of more solemn interest, I think, are ever 
exhibited on earth, than that which is presented in the last 
moments of a profligate man, possessing learning and talents. 
It is an obvious dictate of reason not less than of revelation, 
that men are accountable for what they have. In these 
circumstances, his mind recognizes two sources of alarm. 
It contemplates the things which have been done, and those 
which have been omitted. In that large sphere, in which 
minds of this description are designed to move, it finds 
nothing on which to repose with pleasure. Neither by pre- 
cept nor example have the duties of morality and the 
solemnity of religion been enforced. All that influence 
which he might have had on the side of order and virtue 
and piety, has received an opposite direction. In the con- 
templations of those around him, ideas of a lax morality, of 
talents and erudition have been most unhappily associated. 
Many who respected him for the latter qualities have been 
consoled under the lashes of conscience, and confirmed in 
vice by the authority of his example. For the evil done 
and the good neglected, he is now required to account be- 
fore the Eternal ! 

Young Gentlemen, — Avery few years will now fix the 
character which you are to sustain through life. Those 
farther advanced in age are often surprised at the rapidity 
with which the habits and feelings of the coUesian are ex- 



INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL IMPROVEMENT. 145 

changed for those of the citizen. We witness young men, 
taking leave of the places of their education, and if habits 
of regularity and diligence are formed, we are soon remind- 
ed of our oicji progress in years, by recognizing them in 
the pulpit, at the bar, or on the bench. The blossoms 
are scarcely fallen, before the fruit is seen swelling into 
ripeness. 



13 



THE WHITE CLOVER. 



BY SARAH SMITH. 

[Born at Hanorer, 1799. Died at Hanover, August 17, 1812.] 



There is a little perfumed flower 
That well might grace the loveliest bower, 
Yet poet never deigned to sing 
Of such an humble, rustic thing ; 
Nor is it strange, for it can show 
Scarcely one tint of Iris' bow. 
Nature, perchance, in careless hour, 
With pencil dry might paint the flower, 
Yet instant blushed her fault to see. 
So gave it double fragrancy. 
Rich recompense for aught denied, 
Who would not homely garb abide. 
If gentlest soul were breathing there 
Blessings throughout its little sphere ? 
Sweet flower ! the lesson thou hast taught 
Shall check each proud ambitious thought ; 
Teach me internal worth to prize, 
Though found in lowliest, rudest guise ! 



A MELTING STORY 



FROM THE 'PICAYUNE.' 



Y GEORGE KENDALL. 



No Other class of men in any country possess that facetious 
aptness at inflicting a good-humored revenge which seems 
to be innate with a Green Mountain boy. Impose upon or 
injure a Vermonter, and he seems the drollest and best na- 
tured fellow you ever knew in your life, until suddenly he 
pounces upon you with some cunningly devised offset for 
your duplicity ; and even while he makes his victim smart to 
the core, there is that manly open-heartednesss about him 
which infuses balm even while the wound is opening, and 
renders it quite impossible that you should hate him, how- 
ever severe may have been the punishment he dealt out to 
you. These boys of the Green Mountains seem to possess 
a natural faculty of extracting fun from every vicissitude and 
accident that the changing hours can bring ; even what are 
bitter vexations to others, those happy fellows treat in a man- 
ner so peculiar as completely to alter their former character, 
and make that seem to us agreeable, which was before in 
the highest degree offensive. Another man will repay an 
aggravation or an insult by instantly returning injury, cut- 
ting the acquaintance and shutting his heart forever against 
the offender ; but a Vermonter, with a smile upon his face, 
will amuse himself, while obtaining a far keener revenge, 
cracking a joke in conclusion, and making his former ene- 
my forgive him and even love him after the chastisement. 

One winter evening, a country store-keeper in the Moun- 



148 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

tain State was about closing his doors for the night, and 
while standing in the snow outside putting up his window- 
shutters, he saw through the glass a lounging, worthless fel- 
low within grab a pound of fresh butter from the shelf and 
hastily conceal it in his hat. 

The act was no sooner detected than the revenge was hit 
upon, and a very few moments found the Green Mountain 
store-keeper at once indulging his appetite for fun to the 
fullest extent, and paying off the thief with a facetious sort 
of torture, for which he might have gained a premium from 
the old inquisition. 

*' I say, Seth !" said the store-keeper, coming in and clos- 
ing the door after him, slapping his hands over his shoulders 
and stamping the snow off his shoes. 

Seth had his hand upon the door, his hat upon his head, 
and the roll of new butter in his hat, anxious to make his 
exit as soon as possible. 

" I say, Seth, sit down ; I reckon, now, on such a Carnal 
night as this, a leetle something warm would n't hurt a fel- 
low. Come and sit down." 

Seth felt very uncertain ; he had the butter, and was ex- 
ceedingly anxious to be off; but the temptation of " some- 
thing warm" sadly interfered with his resolution to go. 
This hesitation however was soon settled by the right own» 
er of the butter taking Seth by the shoulder, and planting 
him in a seat close to the stove, where he was in such a 
manner cornered in by barrels and boxes, that while the 
country grocer sat before him there was no possibility of his 
getting out, and right in this very place sure enough the 
store-keeper sat down. 

*' Seth, we '11 have a little warm Santa Cruz," said the 
Green Mountain grocer, as he opened the stove-door and 
stuffed in as many sticks as the space would admit. " With-^ 
out it, you 'd freeze going home such a night as this." 

Seth already felt the butter settling down closer to his 
hair, and jumped up, declaring he must go. 

'' Not till you have something warm, Seth. Come, I 've 



A MELTING STORY. 149 

got a story to tell you, too; sit down, now; " and Seth was 
again pushed into his seat by his cunning tormentor. 

" Oh, it 's darn'd hot here," said the petty thief, again at- 
tempting to rise. 

"Set down; do n't be in such a plaguy hurry," retorted 
the grocer, pushing him back in his chair. 

" But I \e got the cows to fodder, and some wood to split, 
and I must be a-goin'," continued the persecuted chap. 

*' But you must n't tear yourself away, Seth, in this man- 
ner. Set down ; let the cows take care of themselves, and 
keep yourself cool: you appear to he Jidgettt/," said the 
roguish grocer with a wicked leer. 

The next thing was the production of two smoking glasses 
of hot rum-toddy, the very sight of which, in Seth's present 
situation, would have made the hair stand erect upon his 
head had it not been well oiled and kept down by the butter. 
" Seth, I '11 give you a toast now, and you can butter it 
yourself," said the grocer, yet with an air of such consummate 
simplicity that poor Seth still believed himself unsuspected. 
''Seth, here 's — here 's a Christmas goose — (it was about 
Christmas time) — here 's a Christmas goose well iwasted 
and basted, eh? I tell you, Seth, it 's the greatest eating in 
creation. And, Seth, do n't you never use hog's fat or 
common cooking butter to baste with. Fresh pound butter, 
just the same as you see on that shelf yonder, is the only 
proper thing in natur' to baste a goose with. Come, take 
your butter — I mean, Seth, take your toddy." 

Poor Seth now began to smoke as well as to 7nelt, and his 
mouth was as hermetically sealed up as though he had been 
born dumb. Streak after streak of the butter came pourino- 
from under his hat, and his handkerchief was already soak- 
ed with the greasy overflow. Talking away as if nothing 
was the matter, the grocer kept stuffing the wood into the 
stove, while poor Seth sat bolt upright, with his back against 
the counter, and his knees almost touching the red hot fur- 
nace before him. 

"Darnation cold night this," said the grocer. ''Why, 
13* 



150 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

Seth, you seem to perspire as if you was warm ! Why 
do n't you take your hat off? Here, let me put your hat 
away." 

" No ! " exclaimed poor Seth at last, with a spasmodic 
effort to get his tongue loose, and clapping both hands upon 
his hat ; '* no ! I must go : let me out ; I aint well, let me 
go ! " A greasy cataract was now pouring down the poor 
fellow's face and neck, and soaking into his clothes, and 
trickling down his body into his very boots, so that he was 
literally in a perfect bath of oil. 

'' Well, good night, Seth," said the humorous Vermonter, 
" if you will go : " adding, as Seth got into the road, " neigh- 
bor, I reckon the fun I 've had out of you is worth a nine- 
pence, so I shan't charge for \\\^i pound of butter f' 



THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 



BY WILLIAM B. TAPPAN 



I GAZED upon the mountain's top, 

That pierced in twain the passing cloud, 

And wondered at its giant form. 
So dark, magnificent, and proud. 

Can this strong mountain from its base 
Be shaken by the tempest's shock ? 

Can all the gathered thunders stir 
This everlasting, solid rock. 

And scatter forth its dust like hail ? 

And fling its fragments on the air ? 
Can aught created wield such strength ? 

Exists such power ?— Oh, tell me where^ 

They may remove ; these mountains may 
Tremble, and hence for ever pass ; 

These hills, that pillar up the skies. 
Perish, as doth the new-mown grass. 

Yea, saith the Lord, they shall depart, 
The hills, and all the solid land ; 

But my sure word of truth remains. 
My promise shall for ever stand. 



CHARACTER OF THE REV. DR. PARKER, 



OF PORTSMOUTH. 



BY SAMUEL E. COUES 



The mind of Dr. Parker was characterized by vigor of 
conception and distinctness of thought. His course ever 
appeared to be regulated and directed by his practical good 
sense. This was exhibited in his whole life, and gave a de- 
cided practical tendency to all his efforts in his profession. 
It was seen in all his sermons. There was not found in 
them any attempt merely to please the taste of the day, or 
to gratify the imagination by the charms of rhetoric. In 
their style they were plain, simple and direct ; with a strong 
and manly eloquence they were addressed to the conscience. 
The end of preaching, reformation of life, appeared never 
to be forgotten. The most frequent topics were the practi- 
cal truths of revelation, — the plain and universally admit- 
ted doctrines ; for he believed, in these consisted the power 
of religion over the heart. He sought not originality of 
ideas, but strength of illustration. He did not exert his 
mental strength by boldness of speculation, by treading as 
it were on the confines of error, in advancing new and 
dazzling ideas, but he used his power, directed his search, 
and applied his knowledge of character to enforce the great 
truths which are the very corner-stones and foundations of 
the christian's hopes. His manner was solemn and impres- 
sive. There was no attempt to set himself off, or to draw 
the attention to the preacher. He appeared to forget self 
in his interest for others, to look for the effects of his ser- 
mons on the character of his hearers, not on his own repu- 



CHARACTER OF REV. DR. PARKER. 153 

tation. He stood before his people as the ambassador of 
Christ, and his manner, expression, and whole appearance 
were such as to enforce the belief that he spoke from the 
heart, and was himself personally interested in the truths 
he illustrated, personally imbued with the spirit of the reli- 
gion he preached. There was a sanctity of manner, an 
appearance of heart-felt reverence in his devotions. His 
mind seemed intently fixed in his adoration. His petitions 
flowed upward from the heart ; the very tones of his voice, 
the richness and purity of his devotional language carried 
the mind upward from the changes of earth, from the weak- 
ness of man, to the peace and permanence of the heavens, 
to Him in whom is no variableness or shadow of turning. 

The warmth of his feelings and his intimate knowledge 
of character peculiarly fitted Dr. Parker for the discharge 
of his parochial duties. To the mourner he was indeed 
the son of consolation, the guide of the wounded spirit. In 
whatever family he visited in times of trouble to its mem- 
bers, he was ever after the friend of their hearts. He came 
not coldly to discharge the duty of a pastor, to offer the for- 
mal words of consolation. He entered the house of mourn- 
ing as the christian friend, calm and self-possessed, yet 
exhibiting a heart-felt commiseration. He appeared as one 
who personally suffered, and his deep sympathy with the 
afflicted enabled him to pour the balm of consolation into 
the wounded heart ; he could thus hush the tumult of grief, 
and soothe the excited mind by directing it to the Star of 
Bethlehem, shining with mild and steady beams beyond the 
clouds which rested over their earthly hopes. How many 
tears now flow when the memory of his people carries them 
back to the times of their bereavements, when their dying 
friends reposed on his bosom, when his christian friendship, 
his devoted benevolence comforted and sustained them, and 
so often made the afflictions of life to minister to their per- 
manent good ! 

He did indeed faithfully discharge the duties of a pastor. 
He identified himself with the sorrows of others. He came 



154 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

wherever a trial was to be borne, and lightened the burden 
by partaking of the grief. Whoever was in trouble found 
a christian friend who could impart christian consolation. 
To the poor and sick, to the widow and to the stranger, Dr. 
Parker would freely give his attention. He sought all such 
opportunities of doing good. His time, his professional aid, 
his whole means of usefulness were at their service, whether 
they needed the consolations of religion, or that active char- 
ity which feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, and sets the 
prisoner free. No man in private life perhaps was ever 
more frequently called to scenes of sorrow, no one was 
more familiar with human suffering, yet he never shrunk 
from duty, he was never deterred from attempts to alleviate 
distress. He found himself fully equal to every call of duty 
here. 

** God will take charge of the happiness of him who for- 
gets self in his exertions for the welfare of others." This 
remark, it is believed, was made with a personal conviction 
of its truth. The very weakness of human nature, the mu- 
tual and constant kind offices rendered necessary by the 
changes and vicissitudes of life, seem designed to render 
more intimate the connexion of mind with mind, destined 
perhaps to continue in a more perfect state of being. On 
the strength and purity of the sympathies of our nature de- 
pend our happiness. These should flow alike with sorrow 
and with joy ; they must connect themselves with the suffer- 
ings as well as with the happiness of others. The changes 
of life seem designed to furnish them with their regular and 
strengthening exercise, that the character may be improved, 
and the capabilities for enjoyment enlarged. He who weeps 
with those who weep can rejoice with those who rejoice ; 
the mind, purified and exalted by scenes of distress, shall 
turn with increased sensibilities to connect itself with all 
that is cheerful and happy here, and with all the brightness 
of the christian's future hopes. 



THE VICTOR'S CROWN 



BY MRS. S. J. HALE. 



A CROWN for the Victor, a crown of light ! 
From a land where the flowers ne'er feel a blight, 
Was gathered the wreath that around it glows, 
And he who o'ercometh his treacherous Ibes, 

That radiant crown shall gain : 
A king went forth on the rebel array- 
That arose where a beautiful hamlet lay ; 
He frowned, and there 's nought save ashes and blood 
And blackened bones where that hamlet stood. 

Yet his treacherous foes he hath not slain. 

A crown for the Victor, a crown of light ! 
Encircled with jewels so pure and bright, 
Night never hath gloomed where their lustre glows, 
And he who can conquer his proudest foes, 

That glorious crown shall gain : 
A hero came from the crimson field, 
And low at his feet the pale captives kneeled ; 
In his might he had trodden a nation down, 
But he may not challenge the glorious crown. 

For his proudest foe he hath not slain. 

A crown for the Victor, a crown of light ! 
Like the morning sun, to the raptured sight 
From the night of a dungeon raised, it glows : 
And he who can slay his deadliest foes. 

That shining crown shall gain : 
With searching eye and stealthy tread, 
The man of wrath sought his enemy's bed ; 
Like festering wounds are the wrongs he hath borne, 
And he takes the revenge his soul hath sworn, 

But his deadliest foe he hath not slain. 

A crown for the Victor, a crown of light ! 
To be worn with a robe whose spotless white 
Makes darkness seem resting on Alpine snows. 
And he who o'ercometh his mightiest foes 

That robe and crown shall gain : 
With eye upraised, and forehead bare, 
A pilgrim knelt down in holy prayer ; 
He hath wrestled with self and with passion striven. 
And to him hath the sword of the Spirit been given, 

O crown him, for his foes, his sins are slain ! 



NIGHT 



FROM THE 'LAY PREACHER.' 



BY JOSEPH DENNIE 



" Watchman, what of the night ; 



To this query of Isaiah the watchman replies, " That 
the morning cometh, and also the night." The brevity of 
this answer has left it involved in something of the obscuri- 
ty of the season when it was given. I think that night, 
however sooty and ill-favored it may be pronounced by those 
who were born under a day-star, merits a more particular 
description. I feel peculiarly disposed to arrange some 
ideas in favor of this season. I know that the majority are 
literally blind to its merits ; they must be prominent indeed 
to be discerned by the closed eyes of the snorer, who thinks 
that night was made for nothing but sleep. But the student 
and the sage are willing to believe that it was formed for 
higher purposes ; and that it not only recruits exhausted 
spirits, but sometimes informs inquisitive and amends wick- 
ed ones. 

Duty, as well as inclination, urges the Lay Preacher to 
sermonize, while others slumber. To read numerous vol- 
umes in the morning, and to observe various characters at 
noon, will leave but little time, except the night, to digest 
the one or speculate upon the other. The night, therefore, 
is often dedicated to composition, and while the light of the 
paly planets discovers at his desk the Preacher, more wan 
than they, he may be heard repeating emphatically with 



Dr. Young 



" Darkness has much divinity for me. 



NIGHT. 157 

He is then alone, he is then at peace. No companions 
near, but the silent volumes on his shelf, no noise abroad, 
but the click of the village clock, or the bark of the village 
dog. The deacon has then smoked his sixth and last pipe, 
and asks not a question more concerning Josephus, or the 
church. Stillness aids study, and the sermon proceeds. 
Such being the obligations to night, it would be ungrate- 
ful not to acknowledge them. As my watchful eyes can 
discern its dim beauties, my warm heart shall feel, and my 
prompt pen shall describe, the uses and the pleasures of the 
nocturnal hour. 

Watchman, what of the night ? I can with propriety 
imagine this question addressed to myself I am a profess- 
ed lucubrator, and who so well qualified to delineate the 
sable hours, as 

" A meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin? " 

However injuriously night is treated by the sleepy moderns, 
the vigilance of the ancients could not overlook its benefits 
and joys. In as early a record as the book of Genesis, I 
find that Isaac, though he devoted his assiduous days to ac- 
tion, reserved speculation till night. " He went out to 
meditate in the field at the eventide." He chose that sad, 
that solemn hour, to reflect upon the virtues of a beloved 
and departed mother. The tumult and glare of day suited 
not with the sorrow of his soul. He had lost his most 
amiable, most genuine friend, and his unostentatious grief 
was eager for privacy and shade. Sincere sorrow rarely 
suffers its tears to be seen. It was natural for Isaac to se- 
lect a season to weep in, which should resemble " the color 
of his fate." The darkness, the solemnity, the stillness of 
the eve, were favorable to his melancholy purpose. He 
forsook, therefore, the bustling tents of his father, the pleas- 
ant " south country," and " well of Lahairoi : " he went out 
and pensively meditated at the eventide. 

The Grecian and Roman philosophers firmly believed 
that " the dead of midnight is the noon of thought." One 
14 



158 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

of them is beautifully described by the poet, as soliciting 
knowledge from the skies, in private and nightly audience, 
and that neither his theme, nor his nightly walks were for- 
saken till the sun appeared and dimmed his " nobler intel- 
lectual beam." We undoubtedly owe to the studious nights 
of the ancients most of their elaborate and immortal pro- 
ductions. Among them it was necessary that every man of 
letters should trim the midnight lamp. The day might be' 
given to the forum or the circus, but the night was the sea- 
son for the statesman to project his schemes, and for the 
poet to pour his verse. 

Night has likewise with great reason been considered in 
every age as the astronomer's day. Young observes with 
energy, that " an undevout astronomer is mad." The privi- 
lege of contemplating those brilliant and numerous myriads 
of planets which bedeck our skies is peculiar to night, and 
it is our duty, both as lovers of moral and natural beauty, 
to bless that season, when we are indulged with such a gor- 
geous display of glittering and useful light. It must be con- 
fessed that the seclusion, calmness, and tranquillity of mid- 
night is most friendly to serious, and even airy contempla- 
tions. 

I think it treason to this sable power, who holds divided 
empire with day, constantly to shut our eyes at her ap- 
proach. To long sleep I am decidedly a foe. As it is ex- 
pressed by a quaint writer, we shall all have enough of that 
in the grave. Those who cannot break the silence of night 
by vocal throat, or eloquent tongue, may be permitted to 
disturb it by a snore. But he, among my readers, who pos- 
sesses the power of fancy and strong thought, should be vig- 
ilant as a watchman. Let him sleep abundantly for health, 
but sparingly for sloth. It is better, sometimes, to consult 
a page of philosophy than the pillow. 



THE SUMACH TREE. 



Y MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON. 



I LOVE the rose when I am glad, it seems so joyous too ; 

With what a glow it meets the sun, with what a scent the dew ! 

It blushes on the brow of youth, as mingling in its mirth. 

And decks the bride as though it bloomed for her alone on earth. 

I love the columbine that grows upon the hill-top, wild ; 
It makes me dream 1 'm young again, a free, a blessed child ; 
But youthful days and bridal ones just like the roses flee, 
And sober fancy turns from these toward the Sumach Tree. 

The Sumach ? why ? — its leaves are fair and beautifully green, 
And fringe the brilliant stem that runs a carmine thread between ; 
Its clustering fruit, a velvet cone of royal purple hue, 
Peers upward midst the foliage fair, in richest splendor too. 

And then the wayward fancy turns in pensive hour to thee, 
And twined with melancholy thoughts art thou, proud Sumach Tree, 
A deep-wrought spell of early days; — in lone and solemn state. 
Rank grew a princely Sumach Tree, beside the grave-yard gate. 

Kindred and friends reposed below, and oft hath childish prayer 
Risen from my heart that I, in death, might slumber with them there ; 
That prayer, how vain ! yet still I love in fancy oft to be 
Lingering within that place of graves beneath the Sumach Tree. 



THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. 



BY LEWIS CASS, 

[Minister at that Court.] 



It was a glorious evening, toward the middle of Septem- 
ber, when we ascended the hill whose summit is crowned 
by the Chateau of Saint Cloud. The sun was pouring its 
setting rays over the beautiful valley of the Seine, and as 
the whole region stretched before us to the east, the flood 
of light was sent back, exhibiting all the prominent objects 
in bold relief, as they are represented in the pictures of 
Claude Lorraine. We stopped to gaze upon this landscape, 
no longer wondering that a residence which commanded 
such a prospect had long been a favorite habitation of Napo- 
leon, as it now was of Louis Philippe. A broad fertile val- 
ley was before us, bounded in the distance by the elevated 
plateau through which the river has worn itself a passage, 
and where it winds from side to side, as if to adorn as well 
as to fertilize the domain it has conquered. 

This father of the French rivers, however great his re- 
nown in Europe, would form but a feeble tributary to the 
magnificent streams which our country pours into the ocean. 
Nature has indeed spread out her works upon a more exten- 
sive scale in our favored regions, than in this older portion 
of the human heritage. Our lakes and rivers, plains, valleys 
and forests, are impressed with a character of vastness, if I 
may coin an abstract term, which is itself one of the attri- 
butes of true sublimity, and which produces upon the travel- 
ler who visits them, emotions which no after events in life 
can efface. I never felt more profoundly the weakness of 
man and the power of God, than when seated in a frail birch 



THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. 161 

canoe, with its ribs of cedar, and its covering of bark, de- 
scending the Mississippi in the night, and approaching the 
junction of this mighty river with tlie mightier Missouri. 

I had arrived at St. Cloud an invited guest to dinner. 
Our party originally consisted of four Americans : the Min- 
ister, Gov. Everett of Boston, Mr. Walsh of Philadelphia, 
and the Secretary of Legation. Unfortunately a sudden in- 
disposition had prevented Mr. Walsh from accompanying us. 
This we all regretted, for this highly intelligent gentleman 
conciliates the respect of all with whom he is brought into 
contact. In connexion with his name, I may mention an 
incident concerning his invitation, which proves the kind 
consideration of the Royal Family. Not knowing his resi- 
dence with certainty, two notes had been addressed to him, 
one at Paris, and another at Versailles, and each had been 
sent by a special messenger, so as to exclude the possibility 
of any mistake. 

The rest of our party had agreed to meet in the court of 
the chateau at the hour indicated, which was six o'clock. 
As royalty must not be intruded upon before its own time, 
so it must not be kept waiting after the time has arrived. 
Punctuality, therefore, which is always a virtue, becomes 
here a duty of propriety. As the Minister was at Versailles, 
and Gov. Everett and the Secretary at Paris, the two latter 
had made an arrangement to come together, and to meet the 
former, who was to present them. The carriage which first 
arrived was to await the other in the outer court of the 
chateau. But alas ! how often are the wisest plans of life 
defeated by some trivial but unforeseen circumstance! The 
King had visited Paris, and had not returned. Being every 
moment expected, the established etiquette did not allow a 
carriage to remain in the court. Our party, which first ar- 
rived from Paris, were therefore compelled to alight, and to 
enter the vestibule of the Palace. Here they wished to re- 
main, until joined by the Minister ; but they had been ob- 
served by the aid-de-camp on duty, who immediately sought 
them, and insisted upon introducing them into the hall of 
14* 



162 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

reception. From the vestibule they mounted a noble flight 
of marble stairs, which terminates at a landing, where the 
upper servants are stationed, and where a register is kept of 
all the visiters who enter. From here they passed into a 
large square apartment, decorated with some superb pictures, 
and then into a billiard hall, which is hung around with rich 
Gobelin tapestry, wrought with various scenes in the life of 
Henry the Fourth, and copied from the pictures of Rubens. 
The pictures are almost living and speaking, and it requires 
the evidence of feeling, to convince a person, not well ac- 
quainted with the products of this wonderful manufacture, 
that they are the efforts of the loom, and not of the pencil. 
The colors are admirable, and lights and shades are repre- 
sented with a clearness of effect which is almost marvellous. 
Passing through this room as slowly as propriety allowed, 
but too rapidly to give us more than a glance at its treasures, 
we entered the Salon of Reception. 

Here we found several ladies and officers of the court as- 
sembled ; and after the usual interchange of compliments, 
we looked around upon this beautiful apartment. The fur- 
niture was in excellent taste ; at the same time rich and 
comfortable, but not gorgeous in its material, nor overloaded 
with ornament. Two round-tables, surrounded with chairs, 
indicated the places where the dueen and the ladies of her 
family and court, as well as visiters, seat themselves habitu- 
ally in the evening, and pass their time in conversation. 

In a few minutes, the Queen, with her youngest daughter, 
the Princess Clementine, entered the room, and after sala- 
tinop the company, and conversing with the American guests, 
took her seat in a kind of alcove, opening into a gallery, 
which surmounts the court, and commands a full view of 
the magnificent environs. The Minister soon arrived, and 
then different members of the Royal Family, who were fol- 
lowed by the King. The manners and address of Louis 
Philippe are prepossessing, and he has that ease and self^ 
possession which an early knowledge of the world and a parr 
ticipation in society never fail to give. Although sixty-eight 
years of age, his appearance is firm, and his step elastic ; 



THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. 163 

and he has a perfect command of himself, which enables 
him to control his emotion, and to conceal from the world 
whatever troubles the cares of royalty, even of French royal- 
ty, bring with them. He was dressed in the ordinary style 
of French gentlemen, wearing a plain blue coat, ornamented 
on the left breast with the star of the Legion of Honor, and 
what is peculiar to himself, but which is his usual habit, 
having the chain of his watch, with several keys and seals, 
suspended at one of his button-holes. 

The order and silence with which the domestic service 
of the dinner was conducted, were honorable to the interior 
organization of the royal household. There was no hurry 
nor confusion on the one hand, nor indifference nor careless- 
ness on the other ; but the servants were alert and attentive ; 
and there was at least one domestic for each person at the 
table. Like the customary arrangements at the French 
dinners, there were three removes, and the dishes were 
changed and renewed with promptitude and regularity, be- 
ing brought in by a long file of servants, each of whom de- 
livered his charge to a superior attendant, by whom it was 
placed upon the table. The whole ceremony did not exceed 
one hour, when we returned to the Salon of Reception in 
the order we had left it. In French society, the practice 
which prevails in England, and which we have borrowed 
from that country, of sitting at table after the ladies have 
retired, and guzzling wine, (the epithet is a coarse one, but 
not so coarse as the custom,) is unknown. It is a relic of 
barbarism, and ought to be banished. It leads too often to 
orgies, and not to pleasures ; substituting for rational en- 
joyment excessive indulgence. I have never been at a din- 
ner in Continental Europe, where the ladies and gentlemen 
did not retire from the table together. It is very seldom 
that the entertainment exceeds eighty or ninety minutes ; 
and often after returning to the salon, I have heard some 
experienced cater observe, with all the self-complacency in- 
spired by a most satisfactory meal, *' It was an excellent 
dinner, and we were at table but an hour ! " 



164 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

But this is the sunshine of French life : it has also its 
deep shadows ; and if any American envies the one, let him 
recollect that the other does not rest upon his country. If 
we have no St. Cloud, neither have we any of that misery 
to which the inequality of condition in Europe gives birth. 
Here is a family, elevated by its position, estimable by its 
virtues, and surrounded by all those external circumstances 
which the world considers as the elements of true happiness : 
and what is better, they have also those moral qualities, with- 
out which high rank becomes the shame of its possessors, 
and a pernicious example to all within the sphere of its in- 
fluence. And yet the head of this family, the Chief of the 
State, cannot pass the threshhold of his door, without being 
exposed to the bullet of the assassin. What a reproach upon 
the country, where such crimes are engendered, if not ap- 
plauded ! 

Thank God ! we have in our country " neither poverty 
nor riches," in the European acceptation of these terms. 
We have none of those overgrown fortunes, which accumu- 
late in particular families enormous wealth, placing under 
their control large regions of fertile land, with all who in- 
habit them ; and thus rendering the mass miserable, that 
the few may live in luxury. I content myself with stating 
the facts as they exist, without comment or reproach ; 
neither seeking to investigate the cause, nor to suggest the 
remedy. As one of the phases of human life, an American 
may well be anxious to observe the condition and manners 
of high European society, and to describe them for his 
countrymen. But the description, if faithful, will contain 
much more for warning than for imitation. When con- 
trasted with the extremity of penury and wretchedness which 
every where meet the eye, the present tendency of the in- 
stitutions in Europe, whether continental or insular, presents 
a subject of painful reflection to the foreign traveller, and I 
should think of serious alarm to every lover of good order, 
and to every well-wisher of human nature. In fact, Euro- 
pean society is a volcano, prepared at any moment for an 



THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD, 165 

eruption, which may bury beneath its lava the happiness of 
generations. The evil, in truth, lies far deeper than mere 
appearances indicate. Political institutions certainly re- 
quire regeneration ; a better adaptation to the present state 
of society, and to the prevalent opinions of the world ; a 
system of legislation and administration, not in the interest 
of the few who govern, but seeking the general welfare of 
the entire community. But beyond this, there are causes 
in operation which laws cannot reach, and which govern- 
ments, if they can effect, cannot control. Property is too un- 
equally divided; population presses too closely upon subsist- 
ence ; employment is too often wanting, and too insufficient- 
ly paid ; and penury and misery are the consequences. 
Life, in advance, offers to the laboring man nothing but a 
perpetual struggle to procure the means of subsistence, and 
the prospect of early decrepitude, and of a death in some 
den of wretchedness, public or private. The extremity of 
suffering which the old world exhibits, is beyond the reach 
of an American imagination to conceive. I shall confine 
myself to a single fact. I passed the last summer at Ver- 
sailles, where the commanding general put at my disposition 
a sous-officer to accompany me in my walks, and to point 
out the various localities worthy of particular observation, 
at that seat of wonders. He was a very intelligent man, and 
well educated ; and I owe to his conversation much knowl- 
edge of the true condition of things in the internal economy 
of France. He was from the neighborhood of Amiens, and 
his father was a small proprietor. I asked him, one day, 
what was the usual breakfast of the laboring people in that 
part of the country. He said, " Plenty of water, and a 
piece of ammunition bread, rubbed with an onion ! " 

Well may an American exclaim with the royal Psalmist, 
not proudly, but with all the humility of gratitude to that 
Providence who has given us such a country and such in- 
stitutions : " The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places ; 
yea, I have a goodly heritage ! " 



THE AUTUMN EVENING. 



BY WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. 



Behold the western evening light ! 

It melts in deepening gloom ; 
So calmly christians sink away, 

Descending to the tomb. 

The wind breathes low ; the withering leaf 
Scarce whispers from the tree ; 

So gently flows the parting breath, 
When good men cease to be. 

How beautiful on all the hills 

The crimson light is shed ! 
'T is like the peace the christian gives 

To mourners round his bed. 

How mildly on the wandering cloud 

The sunset beam is cast ! 
'T is like the memory left behind 

When loved ones breathe their last. 

And now, above the dews of night 

The yellow star appears ; 
So faith springs in the heart of those 

Whose eyes are bathed in tears. 

But soon the morning's happier light 

Its glory shall restore, 
And eyelids that are sealed in death 

Shall wake to close no more. 



AVOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 

BY REV. JOSEPH S. BUCK MINSTER. 

Every favorable conclusion which we have been dis- 
posed to form of the influence of Christianity on the charac- 
ter of your sex, is confirmed by a survey of modern Europe. 
Notwithstanding the progress of what is called refinement 
in nations, wherever religion has been most corrupted, 
woman is yet most depraved, and shows a more sensible 
degradation than our sex. It would be easy to refer you to 
modern Italy and Spain for illustrations of this ; but it will 
be sufficient to confine ourselves to that country, where the 
dregs of chivalry seem to have settled in the form of gal- 
lantry, after the pure spirit of honor had evaporated. In 
France the female understanding has been as highly culti- 
vated as in any part of Christendom. There your sex has 
often dictated the fashions of philosophy and taste, and ex- 
ercised a sensible sway over the republic of letters ; and if, 
with this high culture of the female imagination, and this 
invisible influence and authority in criticism, France had 
also produced the best female instructers of the world, and 
the purest examples in the walks of domestic usefulness, we 
should be obliged to relinquish some of the conclusions 
which we have already embraced, and acknowledge that the 
state of Christianity in a country has little to do in the for- 
mation of female perfection. But, when we look over the 
roll of the female writers of France, how often are we com- 
pelled to pause, and wonder at their strange union of senti- 
ment and affectation, of moral delicacy and voluptuousness. 



168 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

of philosophy and paradox, of exquisite sensibility and prac- 
tical unprincipledness; so that there is hardly one of their 
most celebrated females, whose works you may venture to 
recommend without reserve, or to read without exception. 
It may be set down, perhaps, to the prejudices of a protes- 
tant education, or to national pride, that though I am dis- 
posed to allow the singular merit and piety of the celebrated 
Madame Dacier, I could wish that she had not translated 
Aristophanes and Anacreon ; and must be allowed to pre- 
fer the severer accomplishments of the venerable Mrs. Car- 
ter, and even the curious learning and delicate ripeness of 
that modest prodigy, Elizabeth Smith. I have felt occa- 
sional sympathy with the devout and mystical genius of 
Madame Guyon, but I cannot give to her that homage 
which I pay to the angelic vision of Klopstock's wife. I 
acknowledge the enchanting sensibility of Madame de Se- 
vigne, the practical good sense of Madame de Genlis, the 
Delphic inspiration of Madame de Stael, the passionate 
touches of Madame Cottin ; but my admiration, at least of 
these latter writers, is often clouded with sorrow and dis- 
gust. I look in vain for one " sun, clad in perfect purity," 
and turn for relief to the sound philosophy of Elizabeth 
Hamilton, or delight myself with the exquisite elegance and 
hallowed fancy of Mrs. Barbauld, the exuberant diction and 
evangelical morality of Hannah More, the well-attempered 
maxims of the sensible Chapone, the practical sagacity and 
miraculous invention of Maria Edgeworth. These names, 
except perhaps the last, who has not yet authorized us to 
class her, all belong to Christianity. They were nourished 
at the breast of protestantism ; they are daughters of the 
christian family ; and they have breathed, though a colder, 
yet a purer air, than their rivals. It is our glory to belong 
to the age, which they have illustrated by their genius, and 
our happiness to believe that they will light the way for our 
children to glory, honor and immortality. 

With these names I finish this division of my subject ; 



WOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 169 

and if you are still asked, what Christianity has done for 
your sex, you have only to repeat these names. 

You have heard us with so much patience on the past 
condition and character of your sex, we hope you will not 
be wearied with what remains of this discourse, in which 
we intend to explain what you may and ought to do for 
Christianity, which has done so much for you. 

Nature, when she endowed you with superior tenderness 
of frame and sensibility of mind, directed you to the almost 
instinctive exercise of the kind and compassionate duties. 
But Christianity, by raising you to a community of rights 
and interests with the other sex, while it has still left you 
this sphere of action, has given you, in fact, the government 
of the world. To you is every where intrusted, in civilized 
Christendom, that precious deposit, the infant's mind ; and 
thus, while it has made your example of early and everlast- 
ing effect, it has also made the culture of your understand- 
ings of infinite importance. Still, it may be doubted wheth- 
er the influence you have as mothers or as wives, is greater 
than that which you have already exercised, and which your 
daughters will exercise in their turn, upon entering the 
world, awakening the love, and leading away the admiration 
of our sex. My young friends, who will hereafter give to 
many homes their charm, or change them into dens of hor- 
ror, when you know and feel that Christianity is every thing 
to you, you will make it every thing to us. Think then, 
what you may do for pure, rational, unaffected, practical 
Christianity. Is it not worthy of your ambition, instead of 
countenancing, by your youthful favor, the unprincipled of 
our sex, to attempt to raise the tone of masculine under- 
standing and morals, and the standard of juvenile accom- 
plishments ? 

To insure these effects, is it not time that female educa- 
tion were generally directed to a higher mark, not of accom- 
plishments, as they are called, for of them we have enough, 
even to satiety, but of intellectual furniture and vigor ? Is 
15 



170 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

it not time that a race of females should be formed, who 
may practice with intelligence and with confidence on those 
rules which have been given, and those ideas which have 
been suggested in the immortal works on education, which 
we already owe to the extraordinary women of the present 
age ? Is it not time that some plan of more liberal and ex- 
tensive female education were devised to form the mothers 
of your children's children ; an education which shall save 
many a ripening female mind from that feebleness to which 
it might otherwise be destined in this age of vanity and 
books ; so that women may be more generally furnished 
with principles as well as sentiments, with logic as well as 
taste, with true knowledge as well as with a morbid thirst 
for entertainment ; to all which should be superadded a 
religious fear and love of God and his Son, so that, as they 
draw toward the close of life, visions of celestial bliss may 
fill their minds, instead of those vanishing scenes of pleas- 
ure which are now so frequently gliding before their idle 
fancies 1 

We look to you, ladies, to raise the standard of character 
in our own sex ; we look to you, to guard and fortify those 
barriers which still exist in society, against the encroach- 
ments of impudence and licentiousness. We look to you 
for the continuance of domestic purity, for the revival of 
domestic religion, for the increase of our charities and the 
support of what remains of religion in our private habits 
and public institutions. 

O, you who are at the head of families, husbands and 
wives, you who intrust each other with your closest secrets 
and your most important interests, let God be admitted to 
share your mutual confidence. Where there is no commu- 
nication of religious sentiment and affection, believe me, 
the richest spring of social and domestic bliss is unopened 
and untasted. The subject of religion is one on which the 
female mind feels more, perhaps, than on almost any other, 
a need of the most perfect confidence, in order to develope 



WOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 171 

and keep alive its feelings. The perplexed and doubting 
spirit loves to find a breast where it can deposite them with- 
out fear or shame ; and would to God, that next to him you 
might always find that confidant at home ! Husbands and 
wives, let not this be the only subject on which you are 
ignorant of each other's meditations, or destitute of each 
other's confidence. Venture to disdain the false maxims 
and tyranny of the world, and try what religion will add to 
your domestic felicity. 



THE EAGLE'S SPEECH. 



BY HORATIO HALE. 



An Eagle came from his eyrie down, 
On the loftiest peak of Monadnoc's crown ; 
The flash of his dark eye was terribly bright, 
As the marsh-fire's gleam in the dead of night; 
And the war-darts shook in his red right claw, 
But the bough of peace in his left I saw. 

Then sloAvly he opened his ivory beak. 
And he stood like a senator ready to speak ; 
And the forests shook, and the winds grew still, 
And hushed was the voice of the noisy rill ; 
And the raven coM^ered in his hollow oak, 
As well he might when the Eagle spoke. 

1 am the monarch of air, said he ; 

Proudly I soar over land and sea; 

And I feel the breezes around me sing 

To the hurricane sweep of my mighty wing; 

And my flight is chainless, and fearless, and free. 

For I am the bright bird of Liberty ! 

I marshal the course of the free and the brave. 
Upward and onward, o'er mountain and wave ; 
I lead them to glory, I beckon them on, 
And I join in the din till the battle is won; 
And the dim eye will gladden my shadow to see. 
For I am the bright bird of Liberty ! 

In the dnys of old, with the freemen of Rome, 
With Brutus and Cato I made me a home ; 
And my wing was before them unwearied and fleet. 
Till the princes of earth were all low at their feet. 
And the Roman was master by land and by sea, 
For he followed the bright bird of Liberty ! 

But luxury came, like the simoom's hot breath. 

And the flowers were all withered in valor's green wieath. 

And virtue was trampled and hustled aside 

By the pageant of guilt and the purple of pride ; 

But fetters, though gilded, are hateful to me. 

So I fled to the mountains for Liberty ! 



THE eagle's speech. 173 



Then ages went by, till Muscovia's czar, 

In hatred determined my glory to mar ; 

So he seized me, and chained me, and struck off my head, 

Eut courteously gave me two others instead ; 

My own noble beauty he never could see. 

For most loathsome to despots is Liberty ! 

But tyranny's chains are too feeble to bind. 
When the will is unfettered, unbroken the mind ; 
So I made my adieus, with a very bad grace, 
And I threw my superfluous head in his face ; 
And southward I sped, over forest and sea, 
To France, the bright region of Liberty ! 

Oh, this was my season of triumph and pride, 

On the smoke-wreath of battle 't was glory to ride. 

Till kingdoms were shattered, and despots o'crthrown, 

And the hero of destiny called me his own ; 

Of the masters of earth none so mighty as he, 

For they loved not the bright bird of Liberty ! 

But the warrior was dazzled by glory's red ray, 
And forgot the mild lustre of freedom's new day, 
Till pontiff and tyrant arose from the shock. 
And the hero was chained on the far ocean-rock. 
And the slaves who forsook him bent lowly the knee 
To the tyrants who trample on Liberty ! 

So I parted in scorn from the land of the slave, 
And I found me an eyrie beyond the broad wave : 
With Columbia's children I made me a home; 
And wider than Russia, and greater than Rome, 
And prouder than Gaul shall their father-land be, 
If they cherish the bright bird of Liberty ! 



15* 



EARLY BAPTISTS OP NEW HAMPSHIRE. 



BY REV. EBENEZER E. CUMMINGS. 

The events of time — fleeting, wasting time, urge us to 
the solemn inquiry," Our Fathers, where are they, and the 
prophets, do they live for ever?" They pass one after 
another into eternity, but we would not be so insensible of 
their worth as to suffer either their characters or their labors 
to slumber in forgetfulness. And with equal earnestness 
should we labor to wrest from the hand of oblivion the his- 
tory of the first churches, planted in the wilderness of New 
Hampshire. 

The first settlement within the limits of New Hampshire, 
was made at the mouth of Piscataqua River in 1623. No 
account, however, is given of any persons among the first 
settlers who embraced the sentiments of our denomination. 

The first minister of whom we have any account, who 
embraced and defended the Baptist sentiment, was the Rev. 
Hanserd Knollys, who preached for some time to the people 
of Dover, about the year 1G39, but his sentiments furnished 
his enemies with abundant occasion to oppose and perse- 
cute him, until at length he returned to Boston, where, 
after suffering imprisonment, he returned to England, his 
native country. 

Nothing more is heard of our denomination until 1720, 
when a pious and very devoted lady moved from Rehoboth, 
Mass., to Stratham. She was most firmly established in her 
faith on the doctrines and duties of the gospel, and labored 
most devoutly to spread divine light around her. She did 
not, however, witness much fruit during her life, but it ap- 
peared in ripening harvest after her death. There might 



EARLY BAPTISTS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 175 

indeed have been many at this period who were Baptists in 
sentiment, but when we survey the oppressive measures that 
were adopted to prevent the introduction of our sentiments 
into the State, it is not at all surprising that they were so 
slow in making their appearance. 

It should be understood, that however mild the laws of 
this State may be at present, in regard to religious matters, 
at the time of which we are now speaking, the jurisdiction of 
Massachusetts extended over New Hampshire, and made pro- 
vision for the due administration of justice. From eighteen 
years after its first settlement to the year 1679, the laws of 
Massachusetts operated through all the province. So that, 
whatever laws were imposed in one State would be in the 
other, if circumstances demanded it. And the merest 
glance at the laws in Massachusetts at this time will show 
that they were most severe on this subject. The laws at 
this period required the inflicting of corporeal punishment 
upon any person who should be guilty of holding a relio-ious 
meeting or speaking against pedo-baptism. It is moreover 
very apparent these laws were prosecuted with great energy 
on the part of the civil authority. Public sentiment went 
also against the prevalence of all intruding sects, and of the 
number of such intruders, who, in the apprehension of the 
guardians of the public morals, threatened to sap the foun- 
dation of the institutions of religion, the Baptists were not 
the least spoken against. 

Surrounded by such circumstances, it is not at all sur- 
prising that we find the cause progressing very slowly. 
There was indeed a gradual gaining of strength from the 
time of the formation of the church in Newtown, until 1770 
though it was almost imperceptible. 

In 1770, commenced a new era in the history of our 
denomination in New Hampshire. 



It would be doing manifest injustice were I not to refer 
to the character and labors of our Fathers in the ministry. 



176 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

who werfe instrumental in the hands of God, of planting the 
first churches in New Hampshire. They were men of God, 
and no one can look back upon their history without ad- 
miring the wisdom of the Great Head of the church in 
choosing such men, at such a time, They were called to 
labor in peculiar circumstances, and God gave them peculiar 
endowments. Their advantages were not such as are now 
enjoyed, to acquire an education, but they were men of 
great industry, and therefore were enabled to rise with the 
improvement of society. 

But most of these devoted men have rested from their 
labors. We look around upon our beloved brethren and 
fathers, and see but here and there a hoary head which may 
be numbered with the first ministers of New Hampshire. 
They have departed, one after another, to rest with their 
Redeemer. We follow them. And while standing on the 
ground which they occupied, we would cherish their 
memory, and wish to copy the piety, zeal, and singleness of 
purpose, which was so strongly developed in their life and 
character. 

We now occupy t'le place of our fathers. In turning 
our minds from them, and looking around us, we see the 
goodly heritage which they have bequeathed to us. Let us 
most solemnly feel that an important trust has been com- 
mitted to our hands. 

While, therefore, we are called upon to admire the char- 
acter of the churches, and their former ministry, may we 
so imitate their excellences as to be followers of those who 
throuo-h faith and patience inherit the promises. 

The circumstances upon which we are thrown, may not 
require of us the same kind or the same degree of sacrifices, as 
was required of our predecessors. Temptations, however, to 
forsake the right way may be spread before us, which may be 
equally subtle and resistless. But in the midst of such temp- 
tations, may we turn and look back at the firm and undaunted 
couraore, portrayed in those that have gone before us, and 
then let us consider that every particle of truth which now 



EARLY BAPTISTS OF NEW -HAMPSHIRE. 177 

attaches to our declaration of faith and practice, is com- 
mitted to us in sacred charge, to keep inviolate amid all the 
efforts that may be made to wrest it from our hand. 

Much has been said for half a century to fix a reproach 
upon our faith and practice. We have met the charge of 
bigotry, ignorance, undue tenacity about small matters, and 
are even ready to meet them again ; yes, we will meet them 
as often as they are charged upon us, for in this respect we 
can defend ourselves on scripture ground. We will always 
try to meet such unkind charges in the spirit of the gospel. 
May we always retain the consciousness that all such 
charges are unfounded, and bear fruits of our innocence to 
the world ! May other generations, when they shall stand and 
survey the history of our churches, and find us on the record 
of her departed sons, have the assurance that we were not un- 
worthy of a place with them on the pages of history ! 



CASUAL COUNSEL. 



BY HORACE GREELEY. 



" What read's! thou there, my fair-ha,ired boy, 

With eye so soft and blue ? 
What spell has chilled the tide of joy, 

Which late thy veins ran through? " 
Up looked he from that page of fear, 

(Such dread our race inherits,) 
And spoke the title, low but clear, 

"The World of Evil Spirits." 

" Hand me the book, my gentle friend. 
And let me o'er it glance. 
Whilst thou a patient hearing lend 
To what I may advance. 
" Spirits of Evil," — ah, my child ! 
They are of fearful might : 
'T is well thou seek'st to shun their guile ; 
Be sure thou seek'st aright ! 

' ' Devils ! ' — Ah yes, in this world of wo. 

They throng each trodden street. 
By day, by night — where the lonely go. 

Or where the joyous meet ; 
But dread them not in shapes like this^ 

Absurd, — grotesque, — abhorred ; 
Ah no ! they revel in forms of bliss, 

And shine at the sparkling board ! 

" In glossy suit, — perchance of black, 

The Devil is oft arrayed ; 
While the dapper boot on his sinister foot 

Does honor to Crispin's trade. 
Ah ! not by outward shape of fear 

Is the cunning Devil shown ; 
But the gamester's wile or the scoffer's sneer 

Shall make his presence known. 

' * Witches ! ' Ah yes, they too, abound ; 
But ne'er in a garb like this : 
They rather in silks than rags are found, 
And betray, as of old, with a kiss. 



CASUAL COUNSEL. 179 



When the witch looks out from a wanton's eye, 

Or up from the ruby bowl, 
Then, if thou would'st not to Virtue die, 

Stand firm in thy strength of soul ! 

Ghosts ! ' Ah, my child I dread spectres they 

That tell of our wasted powers ; 
The short-lived elves of Folly's day; 

The ghosts of our murdered hours ; 
Of friendship broken, love estranged, 

Of all that our hearts condemn ; 
Of good repelled to evil changed; 

Beware, my boy ! of them ! " 



THE MAIDEN AT CHURCH. 



SUGGESTED ON SEEING A MAIDEN I-ADY AT CHURCH, WHOM THE AUTHOR HAS SEEN 
THERE EVER SINCE HE CAN REMEMBER. 



BY B. B. FRENCH. 



There doth she sit — that same old girl 

Whom I in boyhood knew ; 
She seems a fixture to the church, 

In that old jail-like pew ! 

Once she was young — a blooming Miss, 

So do the aged say ; 
Though e'en in youth, I think she must 

Have had an old-like way. 

How prim, and starched, and kind she looks, 

And so devout and staid ! 
I wonder some old bachelor 

Do n't wed that good old maid ! 

She does not look so very old. 

Though years and yeai's are by 
Since any younger she has seemed, 

E'en to my boyhood's eye. 

That old straw bonnet she has on, 

Tied with that bow of blue, 
Seems not to feel Time's cankering hand, 

'T is " near as good as new." 

The old silk gown — the square-toed shoes, 
Those gloves — that buckle's gleam; 

That silver buckle at her waist. 
To me, like old friends seem. 

Live on — live on — and may the years 

Touch liglitly on thy brow ; 
As I beheld thee in my youth. 

And as 1 see thee now ; 

May T, Avhen age its furrows deep 
Have ploughed upon my cheek. 

Behold thee in that pew, unchanged, 
So prim, so mild, so meek ! 



THE HOMES OE NE¥ ENGLAND. 



BY REV. A. A. LIVEUIMORE. 

Was it a chance culture, an accidental education, that 
developed the minds and characters of the last century, and 
changed one unbroken wilderness into a highly civilized 
land, and reared the noblest institutions in the world? No. 
There was a cause. And we ought to learn it and ponder 
upon it. I say there is a cause for the virtue, and activity, 
and happiness of our people. And that cause, I hesitate not 
to say, lies here. The people of this community have, with 
few exceptions, been trained up in happy, virtuous, holy 
homes. We sat, in infancy and youth, in heavenly places, 
and rich influences brooded over our pliant spirits, as dew 
upon the tender plant. 

True, here in New England, and especially here in Wil- 
ton, Nature has lavished her fairest scenes, and breathed 
from the Most High the breath of life into our souls. Yes, 
blessed be these hills and valleys for the choice, sweet influ- 
ences they have shed upon the young communities spring- 
ing up here. Blessed be these granite mountains, that stand 
like vast citadels of safety around the blue ring of the hori- 
zon, and, gilded by the glories of the setting sun, carry up 
the thoughts to sublimity and God. Blessed be the fair skies 
which bend over us here with all their sparkling hosts of 
light and glory. Blessed be the pure breezes which sincr 
from the northwestern hills, and bear health and exhilara- 
tion on their wings. But thrice blessed be our homes ; — our 
homes, where love and happiness wove a charm and a spell 
for our hearts, never, never to be unloosed. There " heaven 
16 



1^ 



THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 



lay about us in our infancy." The blue sky was more dear 
to us, because it arched proudly over the cherished roof of 
home. The sun and wind and rain and snow were loved 
because they brought their treasures and laid them at the 
feet of our sanctuary. The forests and vales and roaring 
brooks have been sweet in association from this great cen- 
tral attraction. 

And what made our homes in this great wilderness so happy 
and genial — so fitted to tempt forth both heart and mind, 
and develope the elastic energies of a free people? I will 
name only two things, not because they are the only two, 
but because they are the most important — Woman and 
Religion. 

Much has been said of the part woman played, or rather 
worked, in the grand drama of these settlements. But the 
theme is an inexhaustible one. What would have been the 
Pilgrim Fathers without the Pilgrim Mothers ? Shaggy bar- 
barians of the woods. But woman came to cheer and refine 
the rude settlers. She bravely dared the terrors of the wil- 
derness, to plant the pleasant amenities of social life in the 
log cabin. She forded rivers and penetrated forests to come 
hither. She came to dwell under the shades of the vast and 
savage woods. Her employments were humble, but her 
aims lofty. " She looked well to the ways of her house- 
hold, and ate not the bread of idleness." Through long 
days and sleepless nights, she watched over her tender chil- 
dren. And when distant labors, or still worse, the trumpet 
of war, summoned her husband away from her side, she 
steadily plied her lonely tasks, watching his return, or learn- 
ed, dreadful news ! that he would return no more for ever. 
We have often read of the horrors of the wars of that period, 
and got by heart the story of the labors, dangers and suffer- 
ings of our forefathers. It would be unjust to forget that 
those who staid at home often endured far more than those 
who braved the flaming lines of battle — far more in heart- 
sickness, hope deferred, hope destroyed, and all the name- 
less, haunting terrors of the deep woods, where the wild 



THE HOMES OF NEW ENGLAND. 183 

beast and wilder Indian were their only neighbors for miles 
and miles. But why need I say more? The subject has 
already been anticipated. I will only say, let us never .for- 
get what heroic, much enduring woman has done for the 
happy homes of New England. 

But there was yet another agent that helped to make us 
what we are as a people, that consecrated our homes as holy 
places, and nerved our fathers' and mothers' hearts to do and 
dare nobly. It was religion. They brought with them the 
word of God as the ark of their safety, the shechinah of the 
Divine presence and favor. Morning and evening they 
oifered praise to heaven from their forest dwellings. The 
house of God gathered them, from near and far, weekly to 
pay their adorations to the Great Guardian of their exposed 
lives, and hallow their minds with the influences of the Sab- 
bath and the sanctuary. Every thing around and within 
them tended to keep alive their sense of dependence on God, 
and their value of the gospel of Jesus. Endangered, tempt- 
ed, weary, suffering, alone, they looked to the source of com- 
fort and strength, and found rest and courage and patience 
unto the end. With them religion was first, religion last, 
and religion midst. Other lands may boast richer soils, 
other climates may be more bland, other mountains may 
yield more precious minerals, other skies may shine with 
softer hues, but where shall we look for homes as pure and 
religious, as free and happy, as in our dear New England ? 
These have been the glory of the past century; they are 
the hope of the new one. Woman and religion have made 
them what 'they have been ; they alone can make them what 
they ought to be. Guard well our homes from evil, and our 
nation is girded round about with a munition of rocks, and 
a wall of fire. 



WATCH AND PRAY. 



BY REV. JOHN G . A D A BI S . 



In the morning's glowing light, 
When the noontide sun is bright, 
When the day-beams fade away, 
Guard thy spirit, watch and pray. 

When v/ith duty's cares perplexed, 
Be not overcome nor vexed ; 
Think not from thyself to stray 
In thy labors — watch and pray. 

When thy hopes are all fulfilled, 
When each anxious thought is stilled, 
Clouds of gloom all cleared away, 
Then remember — watch and pray. 

When in health thy pulses fly, 
And the hours pass gaily by. 
Then forget not, all the day. 
That 't is best to watch and pray. 

When temptation lurks around, 
^■uring to forbidden ground, 
Heed not what her voice may say : 
Kern thy distance — watch and pray. 

When m deep affliction cast, 
Deem not all thy sunshine past : 
Joy will yet thy spirit sway. 
If thou wilt but watch and pray. 

And when sickness comes, and pain. 
Deem not that their work is vain : 
They will make thy darkness day. 
If, resigned, thou watch and pray. 

When the angel. Death, shrsli come, 
And thy spirit bid go home, 
Gladly shall it pass away. 
If thou still canst watch and pra} 



MY GRANDMOTHER'S ELM. 



BY MRS. MARY ANN SULLIVAN 



If ever you visit my native town, 

Will you seek out the vale where the mill-stream comes down ? 

Even the villagers' children will point you the road, 

And the very old house where my grandsire abode. 

But the pride of the vale which I wish you to see. 
Is my grandmother's elm, the old mammoth tree : 
How widely its graceful and spherical crown 
Flings over the valley a shadow of brown ! 

When the fierce south-easter* was raging by, 
Filling with clamor the gentle blue sky; 
Then a lofty branch like a forest oak. 
From the noble old tree by its fury was broke. 

Oft my grandmother told us, as pondering we stood. 
How, three-score years since, from the neighboring wood, 
She carried that elm in her little right hand. 
And her father planted it firm in the land. 

Her grave is grown smooth on the green-hill side, 
But the elm lives still in its towering pride. 
And the spring's gayest birds have a colony there. 
And they gladden with carols the mid-summer air. 

And gay as the wild-bird's melody. 
Are the sports I have led beneath that tree ; 
The old elm tree — oh, would it were mine 
In the shade of that tree even now to recline ! 



•The September gale of 1815. 



16* 



MORALS OF THE CURRENCY. 



BY NATHAN ATPLETON. 

Suspension of specie payments, is the gentle name 
applied to the failure or refusal to perform the promise 
contained on the face of a bank note ; generally accom- 
panied with a declaration of the perfect ability to pay, and 
the intention to do so at some future time. Properly viewed, 
this refusal deprives the bank note of the only quality which 
gave it circulation, the power to command the metallic 
money which it purports to represent. It becomes simply 
a broken promise, and, like other broken promises, of no 
other value than the chance that legal coercion may com- 
pel eventual performance ; or that the refusal may relax in- 
to a willingness to pay at some future time. It will be seen 
that its character has become totally changed ; that instead 
of possessing the original principle which gave it currency, 
it becomes in the hand of each possessor subject to all the 
fluctuations which belong to doubtful and uncertain con- 
tingencies. It is true, that a single bank taking this ground 
will not be sustained — it is a failure — the bank cannot 
choose but break. But let apart of the banks of one of 
our commercial cities proclaim this intention, all the others 
follow, and the public submit, not only without a murmur, 
but give it their commendation. The State Legislatures 
give it their sanction, almost as a matter of course. The 
example is considered so good, that it is followed by accla- 
mation, and sustained by the general voice. Like every 
thing else in this free country, it is public opinion which 
establishes and continues this state of things, first without 



MORALS OF THE CURRENCY. 187 

or against law — afterward the law is made to bend to this 
opinion. It is true, all affect to consider a condition of 
broken promises, and a depreciated currency, as an evil, 
but it is acquiesced in at once, as a sort of dispensation of 
Providence. The real evil is in a depraved public opinion, 
which tolerates this state of things at all. The remedy is 
simple, but perhaps not very easy — the correction of this 
public opinion. 

Money or currency is an instrument of the first necessity 
to a nation. No trade or commerce can be carried on 
without it. A nation using a currency wholly metallic may 
feel a scarcity of money, but cannot be drained of it, any 
more than a mechanic can be made to part with the tools 
necessary to carry on his daily business. Over-trade may 
take place in such a community — and excessive importa- 
tion of foreign commodities may cause an exportation of 
the precious metals, to a degree of inconvenience. The 
scarcity of money resulting from such exportation reduces 
prices, the effect of which is to check importation, and pro- 
mote the exportation of all commodities, and thus the evil 
soon cures itself, by the return of the coin necessary to its 
trade. No other considerable importation will take place 
until it has in this way recovered wliat is of all things most 
important to it, its tools of trade. 

Precisely the same thing takes place under a well regu- 
lated bank currency. It seems to be the opinion of the 
best writers on the subject, that the most perfect bank cir- 
culation would be one which should be precisely equal in 
amount to what the circulation of the same country would 
be in the precious metals, were no other circulation per- 
mitted. 

An expansion of the currency tends to an advance of 
prices — excites commercial enterprise, and finally specu- 
lation and over-trade. High prices encourage importation 
and discourage exportation, a rise in the foreign exchanges 
follows, which causes an export of specie, which acts as a 
proper corrective by compelling the banks to call in a por- 



188 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

tion of their issues. This is done by lessening or suspend- 
ing their usual discounts. Here is action and reaction, 
very beautiful, and all very agreeable to the public, except 
the last part of the process. A contraction of the cur- 
rency causes a pressure on the money market, — reduces 
prices — paralyzes trade — brings out failures. This is all 
very disagreeable. It makes what is called hard times. 
But in fact it is always the return from a false position to a 
true one. It is never necessary to diminish a currency 
which has not been redundant. The violence of the pres- 
sure is in proportion to the extent of the over-trade ; and 
generally the more violent the pressure the shorter the 
period. 

A suspension of payment by the banks, is the alternative 
presented in order to avoid the pressure attending the con- 
traction of the currency, to the degree necessary to stop the 
efflux of coin. But this pressure is working the cure of 
the body politic laboring under disease — the disease is an 
excess of bank circulation, producing over-trade, inflated 
and unnatural prices. The cure is contraction, producing 
a distress for money, a reduction of prices, perhaps failures. 
Suspension is no cure ; it is merely postponement. It may be 
considered an opiate, which if justifiable at all, can only be 
justifiable where the paroxysms are so violent as to en- 
danger life. There can be no wholesome action, until the 
purity of the circulation is restored. There is no escape 
from this necessity. It is after all a question of time. Is 
it better to be a long time ill with a lingering disease, or to 
submit to a painful remedy for immediate relief? Here 
lies the essential error in the case — the idea that sus- 
pension may be considered a remedy, a real relief — 
whereas it is almost sure to complicate the mischief. A 
continued suspension is sure to end in violent convulsion. 



THE DEATH OF MURRAY. 



BY ]\I R S . L . J . B . CASE. 



•' DoRiNG tlie last day of his life, his rig-ht hand was constantly in motion, and whf n any one approach- 
ed, whatever misrht be the question, tlie answer was roady : To Him shall the gathering of Oie People 
be, and his rest shall be glorious, Glorious, Glorious ! " 

Come to this room ! See, Death is here ! With calm and solemn mien, 
He stands beside the sufferer's bed, by him alone unseen ; 
Nay, fear him not, he has no frown, but dreaming beauty lies 
In the deep quiet of his brow, and in his hazy eyes. 

He is no spectre fierce and grim, with stern, unpitying dart, 
But softly lays a gentle hand upon the beating heart ; 
And the pulses slowly wane away, the purple life-tides cease, 
Till o'er each faintly quivering nerve there falls serenest peace. 

He touches the dim eye, and lo ! the light of earth is past, 
But from the future, glorious scenes are thronging thick and fast, 
Visions that toned the prophet's lyre to such triumphant strains 
Their deathless echoes hallow yet Judea's arid plains. 

He breathes upon the lip, and hark ! that voice so faint and low, 
Is full and strong with holy hope and exultation now, 
And rushing floods of faith sublime, burst from that feeble tongue, 
On which, for long and weary years, the chains of clay have hung. 

Thou v/eepest; thou should'st frechj weep, for earth is suffering loss, 
A noble soul is passing now, — a soldier of the cross. 
Who, with his conscience-armor on, the path of duty trod, 
And when the war-cry wildly rose, heard but the voice of God. 

Ay, weep ! for virtue, genius, truth are passing from thee now. 
And fervid eloquence, whose power the strong, fierce will could bow. 
Could tame the vulture-heart of sin to purity and love. 
And lift the dim, grief-blinded eye, to happier w^orlds above. 

But look once more. — Thy tears are done ! — Thou seest the grave's 

pale king 
But breaks the spirit's prison-bars, unbinds the fettered wing. 
And gives the slumbering intellect, that long in shadows lay. 
The glorious freedom of the skies, heaven's bright, perpetual day. 

And thou hast put new courage on to meet earth's coming strife, 
And thou wilt walk in holy calm the stormy land of life. 
And meekly lift the thankful heart to him who holds thy breath, 
That in his own appointed time He sends his angel, Death. 



TPIE DEATH OF HAMILTON. 



BY PHILANDER CHASE, 

[Bishop of Illinois.] 

This great man, whose death we now deplore, was dis- 
tinguished for his talents and magnanimity in the early- 
stages of his life. In more advanced periods, he shone as 
a soldier, a statesman, and orator. The walls of Yorktown 
can bear testimony to his military skill, intrepidity and val- 
or, when engaged in defending his country's cause. He 
enjoyed the full confidence of our great Washington, the 
man whose deeds shall be had in everlasting remembrance. 
He fought by his side in the field, and assisted him by his 
counsel in the camp. When the din of war was over, he 
exchanged the coat of mail for the garb of peace and the 
gown of state. Our constitution was framed and carried 
into execution by the assistance of his discerning mind and 
powerful arm. Under his auspices, public credit was estab- 
lished and commerce poured in her treasures upon us. 

As an orator in the cause of truth and private right, he 
shone with distinguished lustre. The friend of man, he de- 
fended the cause of the oppressed, and made the heart of 
the orphan and widow to sing for joy. He disdained dupli- 
city, and was above the arts of fraud and deception. Mal- 
ice and revenge dwelt not in his bosom, while his heart, 
with his hand, was given to his friend. In short, he was 
revered and beloved by all who knew his worth ; he was 
feared by his rivals, and hated only by the wicked, the ma- 
licious and irreclaimable. On him had a grateful country 
already fixed her eyes, as on one in whom she could most 
implicitly rely in the day of trouble and extremity. 



THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. 191 

But alas ! with too much truth can her sons now take up 
the plaintive song of the prophet, and say with him : " The 
joy of our heart has ceased ; our dance is turned into 
mourning." The great man, whose talents we admired, 
whose virtues we revered, and in whom we confided as our 
best earthly stay in time of need, is now no more. Death 
has dropped the curtain which separates him forever from 
time. " He hath gone to his long home, and the mourners 
go about the streets." 

Would to God we could stop here, and see nothing but 
the hand of God taking him, by a common death, to him- 
self! But in this we are not indulged. As much as we 
revere his name, esteem his virtues and lament his death, 
yet let us not be so lost to virtue and the principles of our 
holy religion, as to pass over, without the most pointed dis- 
approbation, the barbarous, the inhuman and wicked prac- 
tice, by the compliance with which he was brought to an 
untimely end. Little did our Washington, the father of his 
country, think, when he refused to enter his name on the 
list of duellists, that the man whom he delighted to honor, 
who shared his warmest friendship, would so soon fall a 
sacrifice to this abominable practice. Were he now among 
us, he would cry out in the language of David, the defender 
of Israel, uttered at the fall of Saul and Jonathan, their 
king and prince : " The beauty of Israel is slain in high 
places ! How are the mighty fallen : tell it not in Gath, 
publish it not in the streets of Ascalon, lest the daughters 
of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncir- 
cumcised triumph ! " 

A sad comment on the dreadful consequences of duelling 
is now before us. You behold a man, the ornament of the 
age, and the pride and boast of his countrymen, snatched 
away by a violent death, amidst all his usefulness, and when 
in the full career of his greatness ; torn from the arms of a 
tender and amiable wife and young and numerous family, 
who now more than ever need the counsel, the direction 



1 92 THE N E W - II A IVI P S n I R E BOOK. 

and love of a husband and father. O, honor, honor ! false 
and mistaken principle ! If these are thy trophies, what 
but a heart of stone could cherish thee ! 

If we could be permitted to see at one view the dreadful 
effects of the practice of duelling : if we could add to the 
many losses which the public frequently sustains, the dis- 
tresses which it occasions to private families : if we could 
draw aside the curtain of domestic retirement, and hear the 
heart-rending sighs, and feel the full weight of the agonizing 
sorrows of a wife and mother, weeping over her shrieking 
and orphan children : if we would contemplate those chil- 
dren, from affluence and high expectations reduced to want 
and penury : — On the other hand, if we could, in casting 
our eyes on the victorious combatant, look into the recesses 
of his heart, and behold it devoid of all that feeling and sen- 
sibility which designate a man from a demon, or torn to 
pieces and blackened with the remorse of a murderer : if 
we could see him, even amidst the flattery of his sycophants 
or the caresses of a wicked world, feeling like a second 
Cain, the murderer of his brother, a fugitive and a vagabond 
in the earth ; — it could not fail of rousing every honest 
sentiment of our hearts, and calling forth every energy of 
our minds, in detesting and discountenancing the practice. 
Barely the mention of it would be enough to chill the heart 
of sensibility, and make us fly with horror from the man 
who would uphold it in society. 

After what has been said, who can return without the 
most painful sensations, to the sad reflection, that the great 
man whose death we this day deplore, fell in the very act of 
giving support, by his example and compliance, to this in- 
human and unchristian practice ! A conscious blush must 
suffuse the cheek of his panegyrist when he sees that the 
man who, in many things, ''■stood alone'' in greatness and 
magnanimity, bowed to the idol, and gave up his body as a 
victim on the altar of the bloody Moloch of this world. O, 



THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. 193 

weak and imperfect man ! how do thy laurels fade and thy 
honors wither, when thou treadest on forbidden ground ! 

Every man of principle must condemn the act, while he 
must acknowledge that it was attended with all the circum- 
stances which are calculated to soothe and comfort the 
hearts of his friends and countrymen. The extreme reluc- 
tance which marked his every step in his progress toward 
this dreadful deed — the anxiety which he discovered, to 
have the unhappy difference amicably adjusted — his solemn 
declarations which accompanied his will, that he was op- 
posed to the practice of duelling from religious principles — 
that he bore no enmity to his antagonist, that he meant not 
to injure him, let what would be the consequence ; all this, 
added to what passed just before his death, almost too affect- 
ing to be mentioned, seems to dispel the gloom that hangs 
over this bloody transaction, and to spread around the bright 
rays of christian hope — hope which attends the soul of the 
deceased through the dark valley of the shadow of death, to 
the radiant throne of a merciful Saviour, who died to save 
repenting sinners. 

Blessed be God that, though the name of Hamilton be 
added, contrary to his heart's intentions, to the catalogue of 
duellists, (for which all good men lament,) it is also added 
to the host of martyrs and apostles who, with their last and 
dying breath, have borne testimony to the truth of the chris- 
tian religion. 

The great lesson we all have to learn is, to make use of 
our united efforts in discountenancing the barbarous prac- 
tice by which we have been deprived of so much worth and 
greatness. Let us raise our voices against it ; and by every 
means in our power, relieve our country of its galling chain. 
Let us shun the man who would justify it, that our children, 
and the world, may know the force of that abhorrence in 
which we hold it. Though our country has sinned, perhaps 
irreclaimably, in that they have not opposed, by a just exe- 
cution of the law, the first inroads of this practice, yet let it 
17 



194 THE N E W - 11 A M P S H I R E BOOK. 

not be said that we have been wanting in our duty. Let us 
arise like a band of patriotic christians and drive from our 
society the bloody Moloch. This will be doing that which 
our Hamilton, on his dying bed, pledged himself to God and 
man he would do should his life be spared. May his inten- 
tions be fulfilled by us and all his beloved countrymen. 



FRANCONIA MOUNTAIN NOTCH. 



BY HARRY HIBBARD. 



The blackening hills close round : the beetling cliff 
On either hand towers to the upper sky. 
I pass the lonely inn ; the yawning rift 
Grows narrower still, until the passer-by 
Beholds himself walled in by mountains high, 
Like everlasting barriers, which frown 
Around, above,"in awful majesty : 
Still on, the expanding chasm deepens down, 
Into a vast abyss which circling mountains crown. 

The summer air is cooler, fresher, here. 
The breeze is hushed, and all is calm and still ; 
Above, a strip of the blue heaven's clear 
Coerulean is stretched from hill to hill. 
Through v^hich the sun's short transit can distil 
No breath of fainting sultriness ; the soul 
Imbued with love of Nature's charms, can fill 
Itself with meditation here, and hold 
Communion deep with all that round it doth unfold. 

Thou, reader of these lines, who dost inherit 
That love of earth's own loveliness whicli flings 
A glow of chastened feeling o'er the spirit, 
And lends creation half its colorings 
Of light and beauty; who from living things 
Dost love to 'scape to that beatitude 
Which from converse with secret Nature springs, 
Fly to this green and shady solitiide. 
High hills, clear streams, blue lakes, and everlasting wood. 

And as thou musest mid these mountains wild, 
Their grandeur thy rapt soul will penetrate. 
Till with thyself thou wilt be reconciled. 
If not with man ; thy thoughts will emulate 
Their calm sublime, thy little passions, hate, 
Envying and bitterness, if such be found 
Within thy breast, these scenes will dissipate, 
And lend thy mind a tone of joy profound. 
An impress from the grand and mighty scenes around. 



198 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



Here doth not wake that thrill of awe ; that feeling 
Of stern sublimity, which overpowers 
The mind and sense of him whose foot is scaling 
The near White Mountain Notch's giant towers ; 
Here is less grandeur, but more beauty* bowers 
For milder, varied pleasure : in the sun 
Blue ponds and streams are glancing, fringed with flowers ; 
There, all is vast and overwhelming ; one 
Is Lafayette, the other, matchless Washington !* 

Great names ! presiding spirits of each scene, 
Which here their mountain namesakes overlook; 
'T is well to keep their memories fresh and green 
By thus inscribing them within the book 
Of earth's enduring records, where will look 
Our children's children 5 till the crumbling hand 
Of Time wastes all things, every verdant nook 
And every crag of these proud hills shall stand 
Their glory's emblems, o'er our broad and happy land 1 

Where a tall post beside the road displays 
Its lettered arm, pointing the traveller's eye. 
Through the small opening mid the green birch trees, 
Toward yonder mountain summit towering high 
There pause : what doth thy anxious gaze espy ? 
An abrupt crag hung from the mountain's brow ! 
Look closer 1 scan that bare sharp cliff on high ; 
Aha ! the wondrous shape bursts on thee now I 
A perfect human face — neck, chin, mouth, nose and brow ! 

And full and plain those features are displayed, 
Thus profiled forth against the clear blue sky. 
As though some sculptor's chisel here had made 
This fragment of colossal imagery, 
The compass of his plastic art to try. 
From the curved neck up to the shaggy hair 
That shoots in pine trees from the head on high, 
All, all is perfect : no illusions there 
To cheat the expecting eye with fancied forms of air ! 

Most wondrous vision ! the broad earth hath not 
Through all her bounds an object like to thee, 
That traveller e'er recorded, nor a spot 
More fit to stir the poet's phantasy. 
Gray Old Man of the Mountain, awfully 
There from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprear 
Those features grand, the same eternally ; 
Lone dweller mid the hills ! with gaze austere 
Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here ! 

And curious travellers have descried the trace 
Of the sage Franklin's physiognomy 

*The names of the two highest peaks, one of the Franconia, the other of the Whits Hills. The two 
groups are about twenty miles distant from each other. 



FRANCONIA MOUNTAIN NOTCH. 197 



In that most grave and philosophic face ; 
If it be true, Old Man, that we do see 
Sage Franklin's countenance, thou indeed must be 
A learned philosopher most wise and staid. 
From all that thou hast had a chance to see, 
Since Earth began. Here thou, too, oft hast played 
With lightnings, glancing frequent round thy rugged head. 

Thou sawest the tawny Indian's light canoe 
Glide o'er the pond that glistens at thy feet, 
And the White Hunter first emerge to view 
From up yon ravine wiiere the mountains meet, 
To scare the Ued Man from his ancient seat, 
Where he had roamed for ages, wild and free. 
The motley stream which since from every state 
And clime through this wild vale pours ceaselessly, 
Travellers, gay tourists, all have been a theme to thee ! 

In thee the simple-minded Indian saw 
The image of his more benignant God, 
And viewed with deep and reverential awe 
The spot where the Great Spirit made abode ; 
When storms obscured thee, and red lightnings glowed 
From the dark clouds oft gathered round thy face, 
He saw thy form in anger veiled, nor rowed 
His birchen bark, nor sought the wild-deer chase. 
Till thy dark frown had passed, and sunshine filled its place. 

Oh ! that some bard would rise, true heir of glory. 
With the full power of heavenly poesy, 
To gather up each old romantic story 
That Imgers round these scenes in memory, 
And consecrate to immortality ; 
Some western Scott, within whose bosom thrills 
That fire which burnetii to eternity. 
To pour his spirit o'er these mighty hills. 
And make them classic ground, thrice hallowed by his spells. 

But backward turn — the wondrous shape hath gone ! 
The round hill towers before thee, smoothly green ; 
Pass but a few short paces farther on. 
Nought but the ragged mountain side is seen. 
Thus oft do earthly things delude, I ween. 
That in prospective glitter bright and fair. 
While time or space or labor intervene. 
Approach them, every charm dissolves to air. 
Each gorgeous hue hath fled, and all is rude and bare ! 

And trace yon streamlet down the expanding gorge. 
To the famed Basin close beside the way. 
Scooped from the rock by its imprisoned surge. 
For ages whirling in its foamy spray. 
Which issuing hence shoots gladly into day, 



198 THE NEV/-HAMPSIIIRE BOOK. 



Till the broad Merrimack it proudly flows, 
And into ocean pours a rival sea, 
Gladdening fair meadows as it onward goes, 
Where, mid the trees, rich towns their heav'nward spires disclose. 

And farther down, from Garnsey's lone abode, 
By a rude footpath climb the mountain side. 
Leaving below the traveller's winding road, 
To where the cleft hill yawns abrupt and wide. 
As though some earthquake did its mass divide 
Ln olden time ; there view the rocky Flume, 
Tremendous chasm ! rising side by side. 
The rocks abrupt wall in the long, high room, 
Echoing the wild stream's roar, and dark with vapory gloom. 

But long, too long, I 've dwelt as in a dream, 
Amid these scenes of high sublimity ; 
Another pen must eternize the theme 
Mine has essayed, though all unworthilj'^. 
Franconia ! thy wild hills are dear to me, 
Would their green woods might be my spirit's home ! 
Oft o'er the stormy waste of memory 
Shall I look back, where'er I chance to roam, 
And see their shining peaks rise o'er its angry foam I 



WASHINGTON. 



BY BENJAMIN ORR 



In the establishment of kingdoms and republics in the 
eastern continent, the struggles between liberty and usurpa- 
tion, and the predominance of passion over reason and hu- 
manity, have tarnished the deeds of men in power with 
guilt and oppression. Those nations which have been most 
able in subduing the foreign foe, have found a more destruc- 
tive conflict with the rage of internal ambition. While 
victory is obtained over invaders, or empire extended by 
new^ conquests, it is all that ambition can hope or desire ; 
but when the potent and aspiring warrior, on completing his 
conquests, has failed of that aggrandizement and distinction 
from his country, w^hich his vanity aimed at, his sword is un- 
sheathed against the people, from whom his honors were de- 
rived, and his triumphs are terminated in the slaughter and 
subjugation of his fellows-citizens. The sovereign who per- 
sonally assumes the command of his victorious army, is in 
danger of a subversion of his government, only from exter- 
nal enemies. Republics, less energetic in their sovereignty, 
and equally dependent, in times of hostility, on the ablest 
character, for the chief management of their warlike opera- 
tions, are secured in the enjoyment of their rights and liber- 
ties, only by the patriotic virtues of their chief commander, 
in concert with their own. 

If, in examining the records of nations, we survey the en- 
lightened and magnificent dominions of the East, where shall 
we find a character, the first in power, and the first in pub- 
lic and private virtue ? Or in whom shall w^e discover the 
tender sympathies of humanity and the ardor of justice, ac- 
companying the uninterrupted successes of warfare? Is 



200 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

there a conqueror on the annals of a nation in the eastern con 
tinent, whose soul was above the ambition of self-emolu- 
ment ? Is there one, who, regardless of the splendor of 
conquest, has converted his acquisitions solely to the public 
good 1 It is in vain that we extend our inquiries to the ear- 
liest date of civil government, and trace the rise and pro- 
gress of kingdoms and republics throughout the world to the 
present time ; for the character of our illustrious Washing- 
ton STANDS ALONE. 

His heart was a system of all the orders of virtue, regulat- 
ed by the power of a superlative understanding. His mind, 
conscious of the imperfection of all human wisdom, was too 
humble to acknowledge its own excellence — it was too ex- 
alted to stoop to the degradation of earthly splendor. In 
scenes of the most trying perplexity, his wisdom and forti- 
tude enabled him to surmount the storm, and his concep- 
tions shone through all his dangers and sufferings, with in- 
variable lustre. When he enjoyed the mighty honors of 
conquest, it was with a serenity which bespoke the dignity 
of his patriotism, and the sympathetic regret for the ravages 
of unbridled ambition. When seated in the high prefer- 
ment of state, his disregard of aggrandizement, and the love 
of his country, turned the clamorous spirit of envy into silent 
remorse. In the tranquillity of domestic retirement, his 
affections continued to vibrate with the fondness of a parent 
for his countrymen, and the inviolable maintenance of their 
dear-bought rights, was still the subject of his most anxious 
solicitude. 

Though his deeds of merit have surpassed all the human 
efforts of past and modern ages — though they have 
excited the admiration and astonishment of the world — 
though they have wounded the vices of the great, tarnished 
the glory of ambition, humbled the triumphs of conquest, 
and converted the imaginary virtues of crowns into dross ; 
yet these but imperfectly represent the inestimable powers 
of the intellectual man. His righteous soul has exalted the 
hope of a happy immortality to the just, and taught the vir- 
tuous to look upon death as the last messenger of peace. 



NAPOLEON AT MELUN. 

BY MRS. SARAH REBECCA BARNES 



" The glades of the forest, presenting the appearance of a deep solihide, were full in view of the royal 
army, encamped at Melun. At length the galloping of horse was heard, aud an open carnage approach- 
ed, surrounded by a few hussars, and drawn by four horses. It came on at lull speed, and Napoleon, 
inmping from the vehicle, was in the midst of the ranks that had been sent to oppose hnn. 1 here was a 
general shout of " Vive Napoleon ! " The last army of the Bourbons passed from their side, and there 
existed no farther obstruction between Napoleon and the capital." — Scott's Life op Bonapabte. 

In all thy long career of pride, of glory and of power, 
Of triumph and of victory — oh, name thy proudest hour ! 
That hour which o'er thy future course the rosiest promise threw, 
Which from the past no omen ill or inauspicious drew. 

Was it when on red Lodi's field, unshrinking, undismayed, 
Defying death and dangers, thou that pass of peril made ,'" 
Or when, her ancient glory dim, her winged lion low. 
Inglorious Venice shrank aghast and fell without a blow ? 

Queen of the Adriatic ! — thou still lingerest round the heart. 
Awakening dreams of other days, unworthy as thou ait; 
Romance hath cast her spell o'er thee in gorgeous memories dyed, 
And the hour that saw thee in the dust was not an hour of pride. 

Was it when like a " flaxen band," proud Austria's power was rent, 
And o'er her flying myriads thou thy glance of triumph sent ? 
When from her ancient capital abandoned to thy power. 
Thy shouts of victory went up : was that thy proudest hour .'' 

Was it when Russia's giant force in terror and dismay. 
Upon the field of Austerlitz before thee prostrate lay ? 
That "battle of the Emperors," with glorious memories rife, 
So cherished mid each after-scene of thy eventful life .'' 

Or when at thy sublimest height of conquest and renown. 

Was placed upon thy laurelled brow the Lombard's iron crown .'' 

The iron crown of Charlemagne — a symbol of the power 

That countless thousands humbly owned : was that thy proudest hour ? 

Perchance upon thine inmost soul prophetic whisperings came. 
Of the insecurity of thrones, the heartlessness of fame. 
Perchance upon thy spirit then dark visions floated past. 
To mar the triumph of that hour, its radiant promise blast. 



203 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



If SO, none knew: unwise it were to waken dark distrust; 
But lo ! upon the wildered eye what bridal pageants burst ! 
Imperial Hapsburgh ! fated still to feel thine iron thrall, 
Thou hero of an hundred fights, and victor in them all ! 

So reckless of another's claim, by mad ambition led, 
Where slept the thunder? why forebore the bolt that should have sped 
To rive that red right hand, before the altar pledged to thee, 
Impeiial victim ! offered up mid mirth and revelry? 

But why, when every breath bespeaks the triumph hour of mirth, 
Why is it mid this festal scene that darker thoughts have birth ? 
What curse is brooding in the air ? What shadow passing by? 
What demon is abroad to mar this hour's festivity ? 

There 's restlessness within that eye, repress it as thou wilt; 

A deepening hectic on that cheek, it is the flush of guilt ! 

For memory of that injured one is with thee even now, 

And crime is deepening at thy heart and darkening o'er thy brow. 

A fearful vision, undefined, thy very spirit stirs. 

That doom is on thee, long foretold, thy star declines with hers! 

" Spoilt child of fortune ! " — fated still, and formed to move the heart; 

So glorious as thou might'st have been ! so guilty as thou art ! 

A change was wrought — a mighty change ; of all thy conquests vast, 

The memory alone remained, thy day of empire past. 

An exile in a lonely isle, yet still unshrinking shone 

That spirit which no change could quell, that greatness all thine own. 

Another change : thy footsteps press once more the soil of France, 
And despots madden at the thought, and bid their hosts advance. 
Alone thou comcst : hostile bands meet thy unstartled view, 
The soldier's eye has caught thy form ! The soldier's heart is true ! 

At once from countless numbers poured, a deafening shout arose, 
Andjranks on ranks prolonged the sound : thy foes ! where are thy foes ? 
Like wreath of morning mist before the sun's triumphant ray, 
The Bourbon saw his power decline, his legions pass away ! 

And thou — not in thy proudest day of triumph and renown. 
When kings became thy suppliants, and thanked thee for a crown ! 
When earth to her remotest bounds thine influence felt and owned. 
And thou thy mandates issued forth in regal splendor throned. 

Not then ! not then thine hour of pride, though millions owned thy sway ; 

There waited on thy destiny a more triumphant day; 

That day on which a fugitive, where all was once thme own, 

A nation's voice with one accord recalled thee to a throne ! 



FREEDOM AND PROGRESS. 

BY CHARLES G. ATIIERTON. 

Not only are the annals of our Revolution connected with 
the principles of freedom, but liberty is the beginning, the 
end, the substance of all our history. It is entwined and 
embodied with all the events that mark our progress, — it 
is written in characters that can never be effaced, on every 
page of our story, — it is interwoven with all that we have 
been, all that we are, and all that we hope to be. Our fore- 
fathers came to this land seeking refuge from oppression. 
Despised and insulted by the haughty arbiters of the old 
world, that meek and suffering, but hardy and faithful band 
brought to inhospitable and savage shores their household 
gods, their principles, their hopes. They were wafted hither 
by no prosperous gales of royal favor : — no lofty patronage 
protected their humble troop. The same spirit which led 
them here — which supported them under trials and priva- 
tions almost insupportable — which nerved their souls against 
the attacks of hunger, want and savage enemies, — this same 
spirit flowed down to their descendants, and became a part 
of their being. It was the same spirit which in them prompt- 
ed resistance to unwarrantable assumptions on the part of 
the parent country, and the renunciation of an allegiance 
that no longer promised protection. It was the same spirit, 
that throughout their struggle, nerved their arms and braced 
their souls, and led them to resolve, to use the words of one 
of their most able writers, " that wheresoever, whensoever, 
and howsoever they might be called to make their exit, they 
would die free men ! " 



204 THE NEW -HA SI PS HIRE BOOK. 

"It is the cause" which animates and inspires men to be 
great. It was this which, in our country, raised up men to 
vie with the skilful and more practiced statesmen of older 
nations, and to meet in the field the veteran warriors of 
England. It was this which caused genius to start into life 
in all parts of our land. It was this which turned even 
feminine gentleness into courage, and caused woman, who 
before would shudder if the " breeze of summer visited her 
too roughly," to dare all things and endure all things for her 
country. This urged the gallant La Fayette to leave the 
bosom of friends and family, and the allurements of wealth 
and rank, to unite his fortunes with our destiny, then un- 
promising, but which gloriously resulted in the advent of 

That liour when a voice had come forth from the West, 
To the slave bringing hope, to the tyrant alarms, 

And a lesson long looked for was taught the oppressed. 
That kings are as dust before freemen in arms. 

This induced the greatest bard of modern times, whose 
untimely fate the friends of liberty mourn, to devote his en- 
ergies to the redemption of the land which had enriched his 
song, and which his song had hallowed. It was this which 
animated the lips of Demosthenes with that power and vehe- 
mence that have made him the wonder and the despair of 
all succeeding orators — this which gave its eloquent per- 
suasion to the honied tongue of Cicero. It was this that 
made Chatham seem more than human, when at the time 
of our struggle, he dared to say in the British Parliament : 
" But were I an American as I am an Englishman, while 
a foreign troop was landed in my soil, I never would lay 
down my arms, no, never 1 " This gave to Fox his match- 
less ardor and energy, which surprised into a momentary 
show of human feeling " the wire-drawn puppets, the deaf 
and dumb things of a Court." Let men have a motive to 
urcre them on, and almost any thing is within their reach. 
And what motive can be greater than the desire to obtain 
freedom ? for without this nothing is desirable. 

The advocates of despotic governments delight in quoting 



FREEDOM AND PROGRESS. 205 

examples of popular misrule. They talk of treasuries rifled 
and granaries plundered by a populace — but what do they 
say of extortion that beggars, and monopolies that starve ? 
They speak with abhorrence of the tumultuous disorders 
and the irregular license of a multitude — but in the same 
breath you hear them flattering the mighty authors of sys- 
tematic violence and organized rapine and bloodshed, palli- 
ated in their eyes by the glare of wealth and pomp of birth. 
Cruelty or outrage, which they can in any way connect with 
democracy, to their delicate nerves is terrible indeed, — but 
the grinding oppression of an aristocracy, the oceans of 
blood shed by despots, murders in form of law, proscrip- 
tions, imposts, confiscations and wanton inflictions and base 
cruelty — all these are nothing ! It is nothing to them that 
so many noble spirits, whose only crime was to long for free- 
dom, have been immured in dungeons to pine away their 
lives in loathsome decay — that the energies of whole na- 
tions have been repressed, (like those of Ireland at the pres- 
ent day) — that whole countries have been depopulated by 
the misery that follows the invader's march — that whole un- 
offending communities have been put to the sword by the eager 
ambition of despots ! The fate of so many honest industrious 
poor, who struggle in vain to overcome undeserved but reme- 
diless misery — the wo of beings brutalized with slavery, and 
kept in ignorant vassalage, lest they should learn to use their 
strength — the human mind degraded, " cabined, cribbed, con- 
fined " — opinion persecuted — conscience insulted — the 
blaze of faggots gathered round innocents — the massacres of 
women and children — the suff*erings of martyrs — all these, 
to them, are nothing ! Show me one act of cruelty or injustice 
by mobs, and I will show you an hundred by tyrants ! And 
which is the more excusable — the uprising of human be- 
ings, with countenances savage with want, and eyes hollow 
and glaring with wo, to procure the necessaries of life — 
ay, or if you choose it, to drink the blood of their oppres- 
sors, or the regular march of a standing army in the employ 
of a tyrant, paid for murder, and proceeding on their bloody 
18 



206 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

track to burn cities, to ravage countries, and to butcher 
alike, young and old, male and female? 

Long enough have the despots of Europe kept their sub- 
jects in ignorance, in order to preserve their ovi^n sway. 
Long enough have they lorded it over the consciences and 
birthrights of men. The divine right of kings, which they 
have''altered into the milder term legitimacy, will not do. 
" The right divine of kings to govern wrong," is not a 
maxim for this bold, busy, and inquiring age. There is a 
spirit abroad too dangerous to be trifled with. Its outbreak- 
ings have already been seen in various parts of the earth. 
If the masters of the old world yield to its progress, it may 
reform abuses gradually, as the water-drop wears the marble, 
and they may hide in obscurity their imbecility and their 
shame. But let them form themselves into alliances, and 
by combinations endeavor to preserve their sway, and ** the 
overstrung nations will arm in madness." Let them endeavor 
to breast and stop the tide of improvement which is rushing 
onward, and it will sweep them away in its mighty torrent. 
The murmurings of the storm are already heard in the forest, 
the sighings of the gusts of wind, and the groans of the 
laboring trees. If they prostrate themselves before the com- 
inor tempest, it may pass them untouched, unhurt ; but wo 
to those who endeavor to brave it, for the angel of death 
will ride on its rushing wings. 

Reverses may ensue in the cause of freedom ; hope de- 
layed may sicken the souls of patriots ; the exertions of he- 
roes and martyrs may be, for a while, in vain ; brave hearts 
may spill their best blood on the points of mercenary bay- 
onets, but the cause of human nature and of God must 
triumph ! I say the cause of God, for the Almighty has not 
placed the longing after freedom any more than the longing 
after immortality in our bosoms, that it should only for ever 
be a source of disappointment and despair ! Our history 
must inspire all. And it is curious to reflect that our fore- 
fathers, despised and insulted by the potentates of the old 
world, brought that here with them which shall react, nay, 



FREEDOM AND PROGRESS. 207 

is reacting on their persecutors with tremendous energy. 
They came here " to plant the tree of life, to plant fair free- 
dom's tree," which has grown up so large and beautiful, and 
will overshadow all the earth — the tree which shall prove 
to the free of all nations a shelter and protection, but to 
tyrants and oppressors will be more deadly than the Upas, 
which blasts and withers all who approach it. 

The only condition on which liberty is granted to man, 
is that of perpetual vigilance. This subtle spirit of oppres- 
sion must be met in its first approaches, it must be guarded 
against with ever anxious care. Man cannot procure any 
thing of importance unless by striving for it, nor can he re- 
tain any thing worth having, unless by guarding it. The 
husbandman, before he can expect the earth to yield its in- 
crease, must prepare it by his toil ; and after his stores are 
gathered, his care is still necessary to preserve them. The 
accumulator of property, when he has amassed wealth, if he 
would not lose all the fruits of his labor and anxiety, must 
still be ever on the alert lest it vanish, and all his fond hopes 
be prostrated. No other blessing can we expect to enjoy 
long without activity and care on our part, and why should 
we expect that liberty, the greatest of blessings, can be re- 
tained without either ? Why should we imagine that, be- 
cause we now have liberty, we must always possess it, how- 
ever supine we may be ? If freedom is worth fighting for, 
it is worth preserving. Let us never listen to the voice 
which would calm all our apprehensions, and lull us into 
slumbers of security ; into a quiet which might be repose 
indeed, but would soon be the leaden sleep of despotism. 



CHOCORUA'S CURSE. 



BY CHARLES J. FOX 



Thisre is a hi^h and abrupt mountain, overlooking Burton, N. H., which is called Chocorua's Peak, 
and a strange fatality has attended the settlements at its foot. Tradition relates that many years ago, Choco- 
rua, the last survivor of liis tribe, was hunting upon this mountain in time of peace, when two of the early 
settlers suddenly came upon him. They hated him because he was an Indian, and, telling him that he 
must die, gave him his choice, to fall by their rifles, or to leap from the precipice. He chose the latter, 
and, uttering a curse upon the region, was dashed in pieces on the rocks below. The blight and pestilence 
which have since prevailed there, as if the earth was poisoned, aie believed by many to be the effect of 
Ohocorua's Curse. 

On the cliff's extremest brow, 
Fearless stands Cliocorua now ; 
Last of all his tribe, and he 
Doomed to death of cruelty. 
O'er the broad green vales that lie 
Far beneath, he casts his eye. 
And in tones the heavens that pierce, 
O'er them breathes his dying curse. 

" Lands where lived and died my sires, 
Where they built their council fires ; 
Where they roamed and knew no fear, 
Till the dread white man drew near; 
Once when swelled the war-cry round. 
Flocked a thousand at the sound ; 
But the white man came, and they 
Like the leaves have passed away. 

" There my fathers' bones are laid ; 
There in childhood I have played ; 
And beneath this craggy steep 
Will niy bones unburied sleep. 
There will other footsteps come ; 
There the white man make his home ; 
Dwellings rise and forests fall. 
And a change shall come o'er all ! 

" Wo to them who seek to spoil 
The red owners of the soil ! 
Wo to all who on this spot 
Fell the groves or build the cot ! 
Blighted be the grass that springs ! 
Blighted be all living things ! 
And the pestilence extend, 
Till Chocorua's curse shall end ! " 



chocorua's curse. 209 



On his murderers turned he then 
Eyes shall ever haunt those men ; 
Up to heaven a look he cast, 
And around — beneath — his last ! 
Far down and lone, his bones are strewn, 
The skies his pall, his bed of stone ; 
But blight and death attest the power 
Of Chocorua's Curse to this hour ! 



18* 



DEATH OF HARRISON. 

BY CHARLES B. HADDUCK. 

To the least cultivated the cessation of our animal exist- 
ence is matter of thoughtful contemplation. To the deep- 
est read in the attributes and destinies of our race, it is a 
fearful and exciting mystery. The dissolution of this curi- 
ous and wonderful fabric ; the separation of the thinking 
principle from all material organization ; the closing up all 
known channels of intercourse with material things ; the 
sundering of the social ties ; the extinction of endearing 
and kind offices ; the termination of our earthly duties and 
responsibilities ; and, more than all besides, the entrance of 
another intelligent moral being upon the scenes of an eter- 
nal state — these are considerations which give interest and 
moment to every human death. These are the reasons 
which draw us so irresistibly to the house of mourning, and 
nttach such sacredness to the last offices we pay to the de- 
ceased. These are the causes which spread its profound 
and mysterious expression over the face of the dead, and 
hallow the place where we lay them. 

It is for these reasons, that, on occasions like the present, 
we pause even from personal and party strife to indulge in 
humane sentiments and common sympathies. For these 
reasons death hushes, for a moment at least, our noisy con- 
tention for the unsubstantial objects of this life, and soothes 
the animosities which have been engendered by mutual 
complaint and recrimination. He is something less than 
man, and more to be distrusted and despised than any man, 
who can look upon a fallen antagonist, even though he were 



DEATH OF HARRISON. 211 

a personal foe, without a tear, and insult, with impotent 
revenge, the pale unconscious piece of earth that lies low 
before him. 

It is grateful to know, that the American people are not 
capable of this unnatural malignity. It is delightful to see, 
that the great stroke of Providence, which has bereft the 
nation of its Chief Magistrate, is felt as a national wound, 
lamented as a common calamity. It does relieve, somewhat, 
the fears of the friends of Democratic Liberty, to witness 
the spontaneous and full utterance of a common grief, on 
this occasion, by parties so lately irritated to frenzy by an 
acrimonious political contest. Dejected Patriotism will lift 
up her head again, and reassure herself, by these cheerful 
omens, that the public heart is still true, and that, in our 
fond estimation, it is something more to be an American 
than to be of any party, something higher and better to be 
a MAN than to be of any nation or tribe under heaven. 

When one of the lowliest of men dies, there is a serious 
vacancy produced. The wound is deep, and long felt. The 
world is not interested in the change ; yet, how great the 
change is. The condition of a human family, the circle, 
within which occur most of the events that give happiness 
or misery to life, is forever and essentially altered. New 
relations are instituted ; new dependencies are thenceforth 
to be felt ; new responsibilities to arise ; new forms of 
character to be assumed. Long cherished affections are 
ruptured ; accustomed pursuits are laid aside ; settled pur- 
poses are broken off. To a whole household, life has be- 
come another thing ; the world is to be viewed by them in 
a new light, and lived in with new feelings. The loss is 
sensible ; and it is irreparable. Friendship may administer 
its sympathies to the desolate bosom ; and they are sweet to 
the mourning heart. Providence may be gracious still ; 
our fields may smile, and our enterprises may prosper. 
But for violated love there is no reparation. The dead will 
return no more ; his place is not to be supplied. The vie- 



212 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

tories of Death are permanent ; its monuments never decay, 
or moulder. 

Even when a great man dies, the most poignant grief is 
not public. The bitterest sighs are heaved, and the most 
scalding tears are shed in private. Even now, while a 
nation is clad in mourning for the hero and the statesman, 
and the parade and circumstance of public sorrow present 
an imposing and engrossing spectacle to all eyes, there is a 
mansion on the banks of the Ohio, where the names of 
General and President are not mentioned. The sorrows, 
that darken that house, are the sorrows which bereaved 
woman always feels ; the tears, that are shed there, are such 
as crushed affection every where sheds. It is nothing to 
her, who sits a widow, in that vacant home, that the warrior 
and the politician is called from the scene of his triumphs. 
It is little to her, that a new Government is deprived of its 
head, a great people of a favorite Ruler. Her lamentation 
is for the husband of her youth and the father of her 
children. It is the bitterness of her cup, that the vacant 
place at her table, and at her fireside, and on her couch of 
rest, will never, never more be filled ; that henceforth her 
way is to be solitary, and her heart lonely. To her life is 
ended before the time. 

Such is Death always. But when one of the gifted is 
taken away, it is a public calamity. A great man belongs 
to his people. He is a public possession — part of a 
nation's capital, strength, and honor. A comprehensive 
intellect, a beautiful imagination, superior activity and 
energy, sublime principle, in which the heart of a nation 
may trust, magnanimity and enterprise capable of inspiring 
and sustaining popular enthusiasm, mind to dignify, adorn, 
and perpetuate — what has a people so precious, so sacred? 
What should a community so prize and cherish ? 

In whatever department of honorable industry such mind 
discovers itself, it is above all price. Be it in Philosophy, 
secluding itself and wearying the hours in the study of 
truth ; or in Art, disciplining itself, and raising itself up, 



DEATH OF HARRISON. 213 

in the fond hope of realizing in marble, or on canvass, or 
in the more enduring forms of language, the features of 
beauty, which it has dimly conceived in its favored moments ; 
or, be it in Eloquence, or Policy, or action — wherever 
more than ordinary intellect, or taste, or goodness, shows 
itself, there is some part of a nation's greatness ; there, one 
of the gems of its future crown. Without such mind it 
may possibly exist, may vegetate upon the earth ; but the 
frosts of the first winter will scorch every green thing, and 
the winds will blow it away. Nothing of all a people's 
treasures is imperishable but its great minds. Nothing but 
the genius and virtue of its noble sons can bind it to the 
family of illustrious nations, or link its history to the series 
of renowned ages. And when the men, to whom it owes 
its place and its hopes, are removed by death, it is proper 
to mourn. The tears of a whole people are a fit tribute to 
departed greatness. The treasure was public ; the loss is 
public, too. And in proportion as it is great, it is also 
irreparable. A great man may make an age, may be him- 
self the age. 



OKDINATION HYMN. 



BY GEORGE KENT 



Of old, O Lord, by cliiFor stream, 

In glen or mount thy name was praised ; 

Creation's works the primal theme 

Of shepherds, as to heaven they gazed. 

A nobler song 't was their's to raise. 

From Judah's plains and Bethlehem's hills; 

The star prophetic meets their gaze. 
The angelic shout their chorus fills. 

•' Jesus the son of God is born ! " 
A Saviour lives to rule and bless, 
To cheer the fainting and forlorn, 
And lead in paths of righteousness. 

That Christ is ours — his word our guide, 

His bright example be our aim : 
The life he lived, the death he died, 

Circle with grace the christian name. 

Not ours our Heavenly Father's will 
Dimly to read in nature's frame; 

Nor ours to worship on the hill, 
Or in the vale, by cliff or stream. 

The word Divine to us is given, 

To us a Messenger is sent ; 
This day records in sight of heaven. 

The holy ties we here cement. 

Teach us in mutual love to live. 

In holy faith and heavenly joy ; 
Help us, O God, at once to give 

Our willing minds to thine employ. 

Aid us at last — our duty done. 

Our hopes all bright — our souls serene ; 

Calmly to meet life's setting sun, 
And triumph in life's closing scene. 



RATHER HYPERBOLICAL. 



HY HORATIO HALE. 



They tell me, love, that heavenly form 

Was fashioned in an earthly mould ; 

That once each limb and feature warm 

Was lifeless clay and cold. 
And the old nurse, in prating mood, 
Vows she beheld thy baby-hood. 
But vain the specious web and frail, 
My heart can weave a truer tale. 

They lured a radiant angel down, 

And clipped its glorious wings away ; 

They bound its form in stays and gown, 
And taught it here to stay. 

But earth, nor art could e'er eiface 

Its angel form, its heavenly grace. 

And would'st thou deign to linger here. 
And tread with me this mortal earth, 
A group of charming cherubs, dear. 

Might cheer our humble hearth. 
And each woulH be — nay, do not laugh, 
Angel and mortal, half and half. 
And every pretty dear, when vexed. 
Would cry one hour, and sing the next. 

But oh ! I greatly fear, my love. 

That earthly joys would all be vain. 

That longing much for things above, 
The plumes would grow again ; 

And so you might, some pleasant day. 

Take to your wings and flee away ; 

I shall be sorry, if you do. 

But, dearest — take the children too ! 



INFLUENCE OF CLASSIC STUDIES UPON THE 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 

BY EDWIN D. SANBORN. 

The study of the classics tends to refine, chasten and ex- 
alt the imagination. Perhaps there is no one of the native 
powers of the mind, which usually exerts so important an in- 
fluence upon our happiness or misery in this life, as the im- 
agination. If properly trained and directed, it may become 
the source of the most exquisite pleasure ; if neglected and 
abused, of the most excruciating torment. In those depart- 
ments of literature which are the peculiar province of the 
imagination, the ancients stand unrivalled. In their poetry 
and oratory, the student is introduced to the most splendid 
creations of genius. It is the prevailing opinion of some of 
our best critics, that the infancy of society is most favorable 
to poetic excellence. Every thing then is new. All the 
impressions of the bard are fresh and vivid. The current 
of his thoughts gushes out warm from nature's living fount. 
As men advance in society, they become less susceptible to 
those lively emotions, excited by an ardent imagination. 
They deal more in general ideas and cold abstractions. The 
reasoning powers become more acute, the imagination more 
tame. The experimental sciences, which require time for 
maturity, advance with the improvement of society, while 
poetry remains stationary or retrogrades. " As civilization 
advances," says Macaulay, " poetry almost necessarily de- 
clines. In proportion as men know more and think more, 
they look less at individuals, and more at classes. They 
therefore make better theories and worse poems. They 
give us vague phrases instead of images, and personified 



INFLUENCE OF CLASSIC STUDIES. 217 

qualities instead of men. They may be better able to ana- 
lyze human nature than their predecessors. But analysis 
is not the business of the poet. His office is to portray, 
not to dissect." " The Greeks," says Menzel, " translated 
beautiful nature; the middle ages translated faith; we trans- 
late our science into poetry." 

If this theory be true, the student can kindle the true 
poetic enthusiasm in his own bosom, only by stealing a coal 
from the altar of the ancient muses. A thorough acquaint- 
ance with ancient poetry will undoubtedly give him a just 
notion of the office of the imagination in literature, and 
reveal to him the secret process by which this " shaping 
spirit" creates the magic wonders of its power. It is not 
enough that the scholar views and admires these unequalled 
productions of genius ; he must become familiar with them 
and feel their influence. It is not sufficient to notice and 
treasure up the beautiful conceits and striking expressions 
of an author; but he must strive to reproduce yn himself 
the inspiration of the bard and the enthusiasm of the orator. 
He must, for the time, forget self, and, in imagination at 
least, exchange places with the author, live in the very midst 
of the stirring scenes that called forth the orator's pathos, 
or kindled the poet's fire, breathe in his spirit, be moved by 
the same impulses of feeling that actuated him, be touched 
by his sorrow, be melted by his tears, catch his fire, feel the 
same emotions of sublimity, and enjoy the same beauties 
that elevated or ravished his soul, soar with him in imagina- 
tion, and train the whole intellectual being to like modes of 
thought. In this way he may acquire sufficient strength 
and nerve to wield the giant armor of men of other days. 

By this process alone can the student become an adept 
in classic lore. Some practical men may cry out : " En- 
thusiasm ! extravagance ! " Admit that it is enthusiasm. 
Great attainments were never made in any branch of litera- 
ture, science, or art, without some degree of professional 
enthusiasm. This devotion of eminent scholars and artists 
to their favorite pursuits is the very secret of their success. 
19 



218 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK.' 

The geologist is in raptures at the discovery of some ante- 
diluvian reptile, or more recent petrifaction. The philoso- 
phic antiquarian gazes with mingled awe and reverence at 
the remains of ancient art, — those magnificent ruins and 
marvellous columns that stand upon the soil beneath which 
countless generations sleep. 

Flinging their shadows from on high^ 
Like dials which the wizard Time 
Hath raised to count his ages by. 

The physician boasts of his splendid illustrations of morbid 
anatomy, and of his beautiful specimens of diseased bones • 
and no one objects to this devotion to a particular depart- 
ment of study, this professional enthusiasm. On the con- 
trary, every intelligent man commends it as the very key 
that unlocks the temple of science. 

The taste is refined and matured by this same discipline* 
By constant association with refined society the individual 
is himself refined. The mind, in like manner, is moulded 
by the objects it contemplates. By long familiarity with 
these finished models of composition, the principles of phi*- 
losophic criticism are gradually acquired, and a cultivated 
taste is unconsciously formed, so that, in writing, the stu- 
dent instinctively adopts what is beautiful in sentiment and 
faultless in expression, and rejects what is vulgar and ano- 
malous. Though he may forget every word and every 
thought he has ever learned from ancient authors, his time 
will not have been lost. There still remains in the soul 
" an intellectual residuum," a kind of mental precipitate, 
which, though differing from all the elements that were 
originally thrown into the intellectual crucible, still con- 
tains their very essence, and is superior to them all. The 
student's taste is classical. And can we use a more expres- 
sive epithet? Can there be higher praise? After long 
acquaintance with classic excellences, he has an intuitive 
perception of the beauties of a literary production. He 
does not need to recur to the standard he once used. He 



INFLUENCE OP CLASSIC STUDIES. 219 

has risen from the condition of a learner to that of judge, 
and his nice perception of the beauties of a finished com- 
position has become a part of his mental constitution. The 
man who has been thus educated, can scarcely become so 
degraded as to lose entirely his taste for the beautiful, the 
poetic and the sublime in literature. Nor is this discipline, 
which thus forms the taste and polishes the mind, a mere 
unrequited toil, destitute of pleasure or profit. There is a 
pleasure in mere intellectual activity. We are so constitu- 
ted, that without exertion we cannot enjoy. Knowledge is 
the proper aliment of the soul, and the highest mental en- 
joyment results from the uninterrupted pursuit and the 
constant acquisition of new truths. A philosopher once 
said : '' If the gods would grant me all knowledge, I would 
not thank them for the boon ; but if they would grant me 
the everlasting pursuit of it, I would render them everlast- 
ing thanks." When the student commences a course of 
classical study, he does not enter upon a barren desert, with 
only here and there an oasis to gladden his heart, but a 
land of hill and dale, whose eminences are clothed with 
perpetual sunlight, and in whose bosom sleep the treasures 
of a world. 



THE OLD MAN'S LAST DREAM. 



BY B. B. FRENCH. 



An aged and a weak, worn man 

Slept in his easy chair, 
While the declining sun's last rays 

Fell on his silvery hair. 
'T was summer — through the open door 

Young zephyr winged his way, 
And fanned that aged sleeper's cheek 

And o'er his brow did play. 
That summer scene of perfect peace 

The hardest heart might feel, 
For oh ! far less of earth than heaven 

Its beauty did reveal. 
And as that aged man slept there, 

Where did his fancy roam ? 
His mind — that mind which never rests 

And has no human home ! 
Where was it then .'' The weary path 

That aged man had trod. 
Since first his young and spotless soul 

Had communed with its God ; 
As speeds the lightning from the cloud, 

As flies the viewless wind ; 
So o'er that long and weary path 

Sped back his restless mind. 

Again the dreamer roamed in youth 

O'er many a beauteous scene. 
Where, when his life was new and fresh. 

His footsteps oft had been ; 
Through tangled dell and shady grove 

He sought the peaceful shore 
Of the deep, wood-embosomed lake, 

Where oftentime of yore 
His little skiff had swept the wave, 

Urged by his sinewy arm. 
Or in whose deep and shadowy nooks 

He sought the noontide's calm; 
Or by the sparkling trout-brook's side, 

With rod and line he stood, 
Seeking to draw the speckled prey 

From out the tiny flood. 



THE OLD man's LAST DREAM. 22 1 



And wheresoe'er the dreamer roved, 

Still roving at his side, 
His bright-eyed Eleanor was there, 

His fair, his beauteous bride. 

A smile lit up his sunken cheek, 

And o'er his wrinkled brow 
It spread, as if his sunny youth 

Were with him, even now. 
He waked — 't was eve — the sun had gone 

Down in his western bed. 
And oh ! how soon that sunny smile 

Was gone — forever fled ! 
His sun was setting — and his life 

Was in its evening shade ; 
His Ella in her silent grave 

Had long — long since been laid. 
Earth had no charm for that old man, 

For all to him was drear. 
The autumn of his life was past, 

The winter of his year 
Had come — and cold and chill the world 

Passed onward in its pride, 
And with a hope of future life, 

He looked to Heaven, and died ! 



w 



THE FRIEND OF AN HOUR. 



BY HARRIETTE V. M. FRENCH. 

[Born at Chester, December 23, 1818. Died at Chester, March 9, 1841.] 



There is truth in the love that has grown up with years, 
Born in sorrow and sadness — and nourished with tears; 
But give me the friendship of mirth's brilHant hour, 
And still let me laugh with the friend of an hour. 

Dream not that in weeping more pleasure you find, 
O'er the friends you have loved in the years left behind ; 
They were dear — they arc dear, still defying Time's power ; 
But let me laugh on, with the friend of an hour. 

The friends that I loved — they have dearer ones now. 
Or the damp earth rests heavily on their cold brow; 
And my days would soon find me like autumn's lone flower, 
Could I not gather bliss with the friend of an hour. 

There are some who still love, though their love is forgot. 
There are some who have loved me — whose love now is not ; 
I will never regret them or call back their power, 
But will cherish the true^ with the friend of an hour. 

O sadly my spirit within me is bowed, 

When I think of lost loved ones, the grave and the shroud; 

And darkly the shade on my future would lower. 

But I weep o'er the dead with the friend of an hour. 



THE M'LEAN ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE. 



BY LUTHER V. BELL, SUPERINTENDENT. 

In its original inception, there was one circumstance in 
its constitution, perhaps introduced from a kind of neces- 
sity, which time has shown to have been fraught with most 
important bearings, not only upon this Asylum itself, but 
upon the remaining hospitals of New England, whose con- 
stitutions have been modified from this. I refer to the 
mixed character of ?i public ^ind private institution which it 
bears. This union of traits is believed to combine the 
respective advantages of both classes of institutions as they 
exist abroad, at the same time the great objections to each 
are avoided. 

To demonstrate this it will be well to take a survey of 
the English system. The private mad-houses, as they are 
termed, have always existed in that country. Any individ- 
ual who chose could receive as boarders such patients as 
their friends or guardians contracted for. In 1815 and 
1816, the abuses perpetrated in these mad-houses had be- 
come so crying as to call for a public investigation, and the 
Parliamentary inquiry developed an amount of horrid 
cruelty, unequalled in the annals of modern crime. The 
effects of this appalling disclosure are felt to this day and 
to this side of the Atlantic, and we have frequent occasions 
to trace distinctly the prejudices and impressions of our 
citizens back to the effect of those developements. Since 
that period the system has remained unchanged, but Parlia- 
ment has thrown a barrier of protection in some degree 
around the poor lunatic, by almost annual statutory provis- 



224 



THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



ions providing for licensing, inspecting, and otherwise reg- 
ulating these establishments. 

It would seem always to have been the opinion of those 
who have written on these points, that the system was one 
of horrors. The obvious objection is, that the best interests 
of the patient and the individual who receives the compen- 
sation for his support, are antagonistical to each other, and 
no inspection can be so thorough as to reach the legion of 
institutions existing. As was remarked to me by an emi- 
nent medical gentleman conversant with this subject, " if 
the keeper of a mad-house in which his whole property and 
living are invested, could watch with pleasure the speedy 
convalescence of a patient who was paying a weekly fee of 
four or five guineas, he must be of that class of natural 
saints who are not numerous in any country." 

Every one acquainted with the nice balance of the mind 
on a tendency to convalescence, must see how easy a few 
negative actions would delay recovery for ever, yet without 
the commission of one act or the uttering one sentiment 
which could be objected to in words ! So objectionable is 
this system in the eyes of medical men who have been most 
devoted to the subject of insanity, that Drs. Conolly, 
Millingen and Brown, the three last writers in England, call 
loudly upon government to assume the entire control of the 
insane. 

It cannot but be now regarded as a fortunate circumstance, 
— as a providential resulting of good from seeming evil, that 
private mad-houses were never much introduced in this 
country. If in consequence of the want of even this pro- 
vision, numerous instances of great suffering and neglect in 
confinement in prisons and houses of relatives occurred, 
yet from no provision existing, when the public mind was 
called to act, the action was at once far more original, de- 
cisive and effective, than if the half remedy of small private 
establishments had been adopted. From no provision for 
the insane, the step was one to a class of public institutions 
which certainly have never been surpassed in their results ; 



ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE. 225 

— a class of institutions which were soon adopted by the 
refined and the /wealthy. 

The puhlic part of the constitution of this Asylum, and 
of those modelled on its plan, assures an entire separation 
of any interest on the part of its officers adverse to the 
patient's highest good ; it implies a certain, thorough, and 
effective supervision of its whole management down to its 
minutest detail, by a body of gentlemen, selected for their 
public character and known interest in the cause of justice 
and humanity. 

Still another advantage of the ■public character of an 
Asylum, consists in its forming a nucleus around which the 
efforts of the benevolent may concentrate. This institution 
has felt this advantage in the reiterated benefactions and 
bequests of the wealthy, which have here provided the 
abundant means of affording the best advantages to a great 
number, and their benevolence is felt to the farthest sec- 
tions of our land in other institutions, which have reaped 
from this indirectly the benefit of these donations. 

An insane institution, arranged for the highest advan- 
tage of its inmates, must be peculiar in its construction 
and exceedingly expensive. A concentration of means 
beyond individual capital, and as a general rule beyond the 
economical views of legislative bodies, is necessary. After 
the expensive machinery of treatment, such as architectural 
arrangements, &c. is once provided, the results from a 
moderate expenditure of means are highly gratifying. 

The peculiar advantages of the private character of an 
Asylum are also numerous, and varying with the commu- 
nity in which the institution is placed. Prominent among 
these is the circumstance, which on recovery cannot but be 
consolatory to him, that the patient feels that he is intrusted 
to medical care by his friends and relatives as a sick man, 
and of course his self-respect is saved from the humiliation 
of knowing that he has been placed under custody by the 
arm of the law as a dangerous member of society. 



SPRING. 



Y CARLOS WILCOX. 



Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds, 

Start at the touch of vivifying beams. 

Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph 

Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field 

A flood of verdure. Clothed, in one short week, 

Is naked Nature in her full attire. 

On the first morn, light as an open plain 

Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured 

Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below, 

With strong reflection : on the last, 't is dark 

With full-grown foliage, shading all within. 

In one short week the orchard buds and blooms ; 

And now, when steeped in dew or gentle showers, 

It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze, 

Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes. 

E'en from the juicy leaves of sudden growth. 

And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air, 

Filled with a watery glimmering, receives 

A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays. 

Each day are heard, and almost every hour. 

New notes to swell the music of the groves. 

And soon the latest of the feather'd train 

At evening twilight come ; the lonely snipe, 

O'er marshy fields, high in the dusky air, 

Invisible, but with faint, tremulous tones, 

Hovering or playing o'er the listener's head ; 

And, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen 

Flying a while at random, uttering oft 

A cheerful cry, attended with a shake 

Of level pinions, dark, but when upturned 

Against the brightness of the western sky, 

One white plume showing in the midst of each, 

Then far down diving with loud hollow sound ; 

And, deep at first within the distant wood. 

The whip-poor-will, her name her only song. 

She, soon as children from the noisy sport 

Of whooping, laughing, talking with all tones, 

To hear the echoes of the empty barn. 

Are by her voice diverted and held mute, 

Comes to the margin of the nearest grove ; 



SPRING. 



And when the twilight, deepened into night, 

Calls them within, close to the house she comes, 

And on its dark side, haply on the step 

Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen, 

Breaks into strains articulate and clear, 

The closing sometimes quickened as in sport. 

Now, aniniate throughout, from morn to eve 

All harmony, activity, and joy. 

Is lovely Nature, as in her lilessed prime. 

The rohin to the garden or green yard, 

Close to the door, repairs to build again 

Within her wonted tree ; and at her work 

Seems doubly busy for her past delay. 

Along the surface of the winding stream. 

Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim, 

Or round the borders of the spacious lawn 

Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er 

Hillock and fence w^ith motion serpentine, 

Easy, and light. One snatches from the ground 

A downy feather, and then upward springs, 

Followed by others, but oft drops it soon. 

In playful mood, or from too slight a hold. 

When all at once dart at the falling prize. 

The flippant blackbird, with light yellow crown. 

Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick 

Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops 

On the next tree, and on its highest limb. 

Or some tall flag, and gently rocking, sits. 

Her strain repeating. With sonorous notes 

Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet. 

All chanted in the fulness of delight. 

The forest rings : where, far around enclosed 

With bushy sides, and covered high above 

With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks. 

Like pillars rising to support a roof. 

It seems a temple vast, the space within 

Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody. 

Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct. 

The merry mocking-bird together links 

In one continued song their different notes, 

Adding new life and sweetness to them all. 

Hid under shrubs, the squirrel that in fields 

Frequents the stony wall and briery fence. 

Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach 

Unheard till just upon him, when, with cries 

Sudden and sharp, he darts to his retreat 

Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree ; 

But oft a moment after reappears, 

First peeping out, then starting forth at once 

With a courageous air, yet in his pranks 

Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far 

Till left unheeded. In rank pastures graze. 

Singly and mutely, the contented herd ; 

And on the upland rough the peaceful sheep ; 



227 



228 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



Regardless of the frolic lambs, that close 

Beside them, and before their faces prone, 

With many an antic leap and butting feint, 

Try to provoke them to unite in sport 

Or grant a look, till tired of vain attempts, 

When gathering in one company apart, 

All vigor and delight away they run. 

Straight to the utmost corner of the field. 

The fence beside ; then wheeling, disappear 

In some small sandy pit, then rise to view ; 

Or crowd together up the heap of earth 

Around some upturned root of fallen tree, 

And on its top a trembling moment stand. 

Then to the distant flock at once return. 

Exhilarated by the general joy. 

And the fair prospect of a fruitful year, 

The peasant, with light heart and nimble step. 

His work pursues, as it were pastime sweet. 

With many a cheering word, his willing team, 

For labor fresh, he hastens to the field 

Ere morning lose its coolness ; but at eve. 

When loosened from the plough and homeward turned, 

He follows slow and silent, stopping oft 

To mark the daily growth of tender grain 

And meadows of deep verdure, or to view 

His scatter'd flock and herd, of their own will 

Assembling for the night by various paths, 

The old now freely sporting with the young, 

Or laboring with uncouth attempts at sport. 



MYSTERY, REASON, FAITH. 

BY REV. EPHRAIM PEABODY. 

Mystery — Reason — Faith. These three subjects are 
closely connected together. One runs into the other, and 
the understanding of one may help us to understand the 
other. 

There are a thousand allotments of Providence which 
are covered with darkness. We cannot comprehend them. 
But aided by experience and revelation, reason is sufficient 
to make us feel that they are kindly and wisely ordered. 
Reason is not sufficient to penetrate the future and see the 
wisdom and goodness of those allotments, but it is sufficient 
to bring us to the footstool of our Heavenly Father, and to 
make us say with unlimited trust and submission, — " Thy 
will be done. Do thou my Father guide me." Thus 
reason prepares the way for faith, and faith binds the soul 
to God in immortal bonds. 

We see this in a good man when called on to discharge 
painful duties. He may not be able to look through to the 
end and see how all shall terminate, but reason aids him in 
ascertaining the duty, and when ascertained, lays a founda- 
tion for an undoubting faith that its performance must result 
in good. All becomes clear. The scoffs and scorn and 
persecution of a world are not able to shake his equal 
mind, or to turn him from the right. Reason has intro- 
duced him into the region of faith, and faith leans on God 
and receives strength from Him. 

We see this connexion between reason and faith in cases 
of affliction. A parent is called to part with a child. The 
bereavement is shrouded in gloom. The reason of the 
20 



230 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

parent cannot discern, it can hardly meditate on, the bene- 
ficent uses and purposes of this affliction. Yet reason has 
seen enough and learned enough, to give the conviction 
that all the doings of God are good. Reason cannot see 
the way itself clearly, but it can lead the parent to Him 
who does see the way clear, and can cause him to bow 
before that being in complete trust and submission. It can 
give origin to a faith so strong and entire, that the parent, 
even in the hour and anguish of bereavement, when his 
heart seems breaking within him, were the power given him 
to stay the flight of the departing spirit, even in that hour, 
he would not say, Come back, my child, come back, — but 
rather in the midst of his tears, does he say — *' The Lord 
gave, the Lord taketh away, blessed be his holy name." 

Mans reason is but a feeble thing. Without revelation 
to aid it, this earth with the sky bending over it, were a 
dungeon with scarce a beam of light struggling in. And 
when in God's mercy these walls are rent, and the light of 
revelation streams in from the world beyond, all things are 
not revealed. We but know in part. We see through a 
glass darkly. A thousand anxious questions rise up to 
which we have no answer. But enough is revealed to 
reason to lay the broad foundation of faith. 

There is a case which furnishes a good illustration of 
this whole subject, and in which men are constantly and 
habitually acting upon and acting out the principles that 
have been stated. 

Night comes down over a ship at sea, and a passenger 
lingers hour after hour alone on the deck. The waters 
plunge and welter, and glide away beneath the keel. 
Above, the sails tower up in the darkness, almost to the 
sky, and their shadow falls as it were a burden on the deck 
below. In the clouded night no star is to be seen, and as 
the ship changes her course, the passenger knows not which 
way is east or west, or north or south. What islands, 
what sunken rocks maybe on her course — or what that 
course is or where they are, he knows not. All around, 



MYSTERY, REASON, FAITH. 231 

to him, is Mystery. He bows down in the submission of 
utter ignorance. 

But men of science have read the laws of the sky. And 
the next day this passenger beholds the captain looking at a 
clock and taking note of the place of the sun, and with the 
aid of a couple of books, composed of rules and mathe- 
matical tables, making calculations. And when he has 
completed them, he is able to point almost within a hand's 
breath to the place at which, after unnumbered windings, he 
has arrived in the midst of the seas. Storms may have beat 
and currents drifted, but he knows where they are, and the 
precise point where, a hundred leagues over the waters, lies 
his native shore. Here is Reason appreciating and making 
use of the revelations (if we may so call them) of science. 

Night again shuts down over the waste of waves, and 
the passenger beholds a single seaman stand at the wheel 
and watch, hour after hour, as it vibrates beneath a lamp, a 
little needle, which points ever, as if it were a living finger, 
to the steady pole. 

This man knows nothing of the rules of navigation, 
nothing of the courses of the sky. But reason and experi- 
ence have given him Faith in the commanding officer of the 
ship — faith in the laws that control her course — faith in 
the unerring integrity of the little guide before him. And 
so without a single doubt he steers his ship on, according 
to a prescribed direction, through night and the waves. 
And that faith is not disappointed. With the morning 
sun, he beholds far away the summits of the gray and misty 
highlands, rising like a cloud on the horizon ; and as he 
nears them, the hills appear, and the lighthouse at the 
entrance of the harbor, and, sight of joy ! the spires of the 
churches and the shining roofs among which he strives to 
detect his own. 

Mystery — Reason — Faith ; — mystery is the low-est, 
faith is the highest of the three. Reason has done but 
half its office till it has resulted in faith. Reason looks 
before and after. It not only ponders the past, but becomes 
prophetic of the future. 



THE AUMY or THE CROSS. 

SUGGESTED BY SCOTT'S ROMANCE — 'THE TALISMAN/ 
BY MRS. S. R. A. BARNES. 



It must have been a glorious sight, 

And one which to behold 
Would stir the sternest spirit's depths, — 

Those armed bands of old i 
The glittering panoply of proof, 

The helmet and the shield, 
The spear and ponderous battle-axe, 

Which only they could wield. 

The knightly daring — high resolve. 

Engraven on each brow ; 
The manly form of iron mould, — 

Methinks I see them now ! 
As fresh and vividly they rise, 

To wuke the vv-arm heart's glow, 
As when they burst upon the eye 

A thousand years ago ! 

And 'neath that burning Syrian sun. 

Far as the eye can measure. 
Prepared to pour like water forth 

Their life-blood and their treasure, 
Those banded legions pressing on. 

The red-cross banner flying, 
And thousands seeking 'neath that sign 

The glorious meed of dying ! 

God speed thee on thine enterprise, 

Lord of the lion-heart ! 
Go, mid the " rapture of the strife " 

Enact thy princely part; 
Do battle with the infidel, 

And smite his haughty brow. 
And plant the standard of the cross 

Where waves the crescent now ! 



THE ARMY OF THE CROSS. 233 

The story of thy knightly faith, 

As ages roll along, 
Shall lighten o"er the poet's page, 

And wake the minstrel's song. 
Ay — to the tale of high emprize, 

The daring deed and bold. 
The spirit wakes as wildly now 

As in those days of old ! 



20* 



THE TREASURED HARP. 



BY JAMES T. FIELDS. 



All Ihe splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold except his wife's harp. That, he said, 
was too closely associated with the idea of herself; it beioiijed to the little story of their loves ; for some of 
the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when he had leaned over that instrument and listened 
to the melting tones of her voice. — iKviNa'a Sketch Book. 

Go, leave that, harp ! twined round its strings 

There's many a magic spell ; 
Leave that untouched, the strain it brings 

This heart remembers well. 

Let that remain I all else beside 

Go scatter to the wind ! 
The chords that won my home a bride 

No other home shall find. 

It hath a power, though all unstrung 

It lies neglected now, 
And from her hands 'twill ne'er be wrung, 

Till death these limbs shall bow ! 

It hath no price since that sweet hour 

She tuned it first, and played 
Love's evening hymn within the bower, 

Her youthful fingers made. 

A spirit like a summer's night 

Hangs o'er that cherished lyre, 
And whispers of the calm moonlight 

Are tremblino; from the wire. • 



Still on my ear her young voice falls, 

Still floats that melody : 
On each loved haunt its music calls : 

Go ! leave that harp and me. 



LOVE¥ELL'S FIGHT 



BY JOHN FARMER. 

In May, 1725, Capt. John Lovewell, with thirty-four men, 
while pursuing their march to the northward, with the de- 
sign of attacking the Indian villages of Pigwacket, on the 
upper part of Saco River, came to a pond situated in the 
township of Fryeburg, Me., fifty miles from any English 
settlement, and twenty-two from the fort on Ossipee Pond, 
where they encamped. Early the next morning, while at 
their devotions, they heard the report of a gun, and discov- 
ered a single Indian, standing on a point of land which runs 
into the pond, more than a mile distant. They had been 
alarmed the preceding night by noises round their camp, 
which they imagined were made by Indians, and this opin- 
ion was now strengthened. They suspected that the In- 
dian was placed there to decoy them, and that a body of 
the enemy was in their front. A consultation being held, 
they determined to march forward, and by encompassing 
the pond, to gain the point where the Indian stood; and 
that they might be ready for action, they disencumbered 
themselves of their packs, and left them without a guard, 
at the north-east end of the pond, in a pitch-pine plain, 
where the trees were thin, and the brakes, at that time of 
the year, small. It happened that Lovewell's march had 
crossed a carrying place, by which two parties of Indians, 
consisting of forty-one men, commanded by Paugus and 
Wahwa, who had been scouting down Saco River, were 
returning to the lower village of Pigwacket, distant about a 
mile and a half from this pond. Having fallen on his track, 



236 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

they followed it. till they came to the packs, which they re- 
moved ; and counting them, found the number of his men 
to be less than their own : they therefore placed themselves 
in ambush to attack them on their return. The Indian who 
had stood on the point, and was returning to the village by 
another path, met them and received their fire, which he 
returned, and wounded Capt. Lovewell and another, with 
small shot. Lieut. Wyman, firing again, killed him, and 
they took oflf his scalp. Seeing no other enemy, they re- 
turned to the place where they had left their packs, and 
while they were looking for them, the Indians rose and ran 
toward them with horrid yelling. A smart firing now com- 
menced on both sides, it being now about ten of the clock. 
Capt. Lovewell and eight more were killed on the spot. 
Lieut. Farwell and two others were wounded. Several of 
the Indians fell ; but being superior in number, they en- 
deavored to surround the party, who, perceiving their inten- 
tion, retreated ; hoping to be sheltered by a point of rocks 
which ran into the pond, and a few large pine-trees stand- 
ing on a sandy beach. In this forlorn place they took their 
station. On their right was the mouth of a brook, at that 
time unfordable ; on their left was the rocky point ; their 
front was partly covered by a deep bog, and partly uncov- 
ered, and the pond was in their rear. The enemy galled 
them in front and flank, and had them so completely in their 
power, that had they made a prudent use of their advantage, 
the whole company must either have been killed, or obliged 
to surrender at discretion, being destitute of a mouthful of 
sustenance, and escape being impracticable. Under the 
conduct of Lieut. Wyman, they kept up their fire, and 
showed a resolute countenance, all the remainder of the 
day; during which their chaplain, Jonathan Fry, Ensign 
Robbins, and one more, were mortally wounded. The In- 
dians invited them to surrender, by holding up ropes to 
them, and endeavoring to intimidate them by their hideous 
yells; but they determined to die rather than yield; and by 
their well-directed fire, the number of the savages was 



lovewell's fight. 237 

thinned, and their cries became fainter, till, just before 
night, they quitted their advantageous ground, carrying off 
their killed and wounded, and leaving the dead bodies of 
Lovewell and his men unscalped. The shattered remnant 
of this brave company, collecting themselves together, 
found three of their number unable to move from the spot, 
eleven wounded, but able to march, and nine who had re- 
ceived no hurt. It was melancholy to leave their dying 
companions behind, but there was no possibility of remov- 
ing them. After the rising of the moon, they quitted the 
fatal spot, and directed their march toward the fort. Elea- 
zer Davis, of Concord, was the last that got in ; who first 
came to Berwick, and then to Portsmouth, where he was 
carefully provided for, and had a skilful surgeon to attend 
him. 

Ensign Wyman, who took upon himself the command of 
the shattered company after Captain Lovewell was killed, 
and the other officers wounded, behaved with great pru- 
dence and courage, animating the men, and telling them 
" that the day would yet be their own, if their spirits did 
not flag ; " which enlivened them anew, and caused them 
to fire so brisk!" tliHt several of them dischartred between 
twenty and thirty times apiece. Mr. Jacob Fullam, who 
was an officer, and an only son, distinguished himself with 
much bravery. One of the first that was killed, was by his 
right hand, and when ready to encounter a second shot, it 
is said that he and his adversary fell at the very instant, by 
each other's shot. 

Lieut. Farwell, and the chaplain who had the journal of 
the expedition in his pocket, and one more, perished in the 
woods, for want of dressing for their wounds. The chap- 
lain died three days after the fight. Lieut. Farwell held out 
on his return till the eleventh day, during which time he 
had nothing to eat but water, and a few roots which he 
chewed ; and by this time the wounds through his body 
were so mortified that the worms made a thorough passage. 
On the same day, Davis, who was with him, caught a fish, 



238 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

which he broiled, and was greatly refreshed by it ; but the 
lieutenant was so much spent that he could not taste a bit. 
Davis, being now alone, in a melancholy, desolate state, still 
made toward the fort, and the next day came to it ; there he 
found some pork and bread, by which he was enabled to 
return, as above mentioned. Fourteen, only, survived this 
fatal encounter. 



THE OPIUM SHIPS. 



BY WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 



Almost incredible quantities of opium have been smuggled into China, under the sanction of the gov- 
ernment of British India. At this very time, says a iraveller, though efturts so extraordinary and perse- 
vering have been put forth by llie Chiiiese authorities to slop this infernal traffic, iliere are twenty-tour 
opium sliips on the coast. Since these verses were written, information has been received that the Chinese 
authorities have succeeded in their etibrts to destroy this trade. 

Ay, flap your wings, ill-omened birds, 

Impatient for your prey ; 
Infest in swarms the Chinese seas. 

For who shall say ye " Nay ? " 
Watch for the moment to inflict 
Foul wrong, in spite of interdict. 

What though your fearful errand's fraught 

With death, death which is hcll^ 
And by the traffic Mercy bleeds, 

Flock on, for all is well : 
The end shall justify the means, 
Your trade is nursed by kings and queens. 

Through all her unoffending realm 

The ripened plague spot bear. 
Till China is one lazar-house 

Of misery and despair. 
Let avarice urge your flowing sails. 
Let selfishness bestow the gales. 

The Upas flings its poison forth, 

In this resembling ye ; 
And wo to bird or beast or man, 

That sees the fatal tree. 
The Upas to one spot 's confined ; 
Ye carry death on every wind. 

And laugh, ye men, as their vile chain 

Your idiot victims hug. 
And mock, as they suck endless pain 

From your forbidden drug. 
What 's law to him who wins the goal ? 
Compared to money, what 's the soul .'' 

Ye may, ye may, for christians choose 

That deed to line the purse. 
Which "scoundrel pagans" would refuse 

With scorn to do to us. 
Yet pause, beware, and fear the rod, 
Though conscience sleeps, there wakes a God ! 



THE BURDOCK. 



Y MISS SARAH W. LIVERMORE 



Spontaneous product of the yard, 
Thy virtues by the grateful bard 

Shall not remain unsung- ; 
The keenest smart thou canst assuage ; 
Thy balm can cheer the latest age, 

Or soothe and ease the young. 

'T is true thou art of homely mien, 
And never, never hast thou been 

Cultured with careful hand ; 
But only under some old hedge, 
Or in some garden's barren edge 

They suffer thee to stand. 

The hand that decks the garden bower. 
And rears with care each tender flower, 

May scorn thy latent worth ; 
But soon as pain invades the head. 
Or heats and chills the frame o'erspread. 

Thine aid is then called forth ! 

Thus often in some humble cell 
Secluded worth unknown may dwell 

Till wo demands its aid ; 
It leaves awhile its native seat. 
Dispenses consolation sweet. 

Then seeks its native shade. 

Mine be the humble burdock's part. 
To soften pain, to cheer the heart. 

And wipe the tears of grief; 
And though the prosperous may neglect. 
And Fortune's pets meet more respect, 

I live to give relief. 



THE PULPIT STAIRS OF RURUTU. 



BY WILLIAM LADD. 

[Bom at Exeter, May 10, 1778. Died at Portsmouth, 1841.] 

That man must be dead to every feeling of religion and 
philanthropy, who can read, without emotion, the wonderful 
triumphs of the christian religion in the late savage islands 
of the Pacific ocean, now exhibiting the charming prospect 
of brethren dwelling together in unity; where so lately, 
brother was armed against brother, and war was the occu- 
pation and delight of the whole male population. 

If it be asked, what has effected this wonderful change? 
the answer is obvious — the christian religion. But anoth- 
er question may be asked, which is not so easily answered : 
What is the reason, that the christian religion has not ef- 
fected a similar change, in the character of the inhabitants 
of Europe and America who have so long enjoyed it ? 
What is the reason, that the gospel of peace, which has 
been preached in Europe for almost eighteen centuries, has 
not had so great or so good an effect, as it has had, in eigh- 
teen months, in some of these islands? 

From the Missionary Herald of October, I make the fol- 
lowing extract, from the speech of Mr. Ellis, missionary to 
the Society Islands, delivered at a meeting of the British 
and Foreign Bible Society. 

"The alterations that have taken place, in their political 
economy and civil institutions, have been but the legitimate 
effects of the truth of the Bible on their minds, in which, 
through all the various relations they sustain in civil society, 
they are taught to do unto others as they would that others 
should do to them. War, the delight of savages, has 
21 



242 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

ceased : its ravages have been unknown since the principles 
of the Bible have prevailed among them. The last pulpit, 
that I ascended in the Society Islands, was at Rurutu, 
where the rails connected loith the pulpit stairs were formed 
of loarriors' spears ^ 

The inspired prophets, of ancient times, foretold that the 
time should come, when swords should be converted to 
plough-shares, and spears to pruning-hooks — when the im- 
plements of war, no longer used for slaughter, should be 
used to till the ground — as has been actually the case in 
these Islands : but that " warriors' spears " should be used 
as a material, in constructing a temple for the worship of 
God, seems indeed to exceed the promise. 

Has the christian religion effected any such changes in 
Europe? No. We find, indeed, warriors^ spears in the 
temple of the God of Peace; but we find them placed 
there, not as useless instruments of war, converted to a 
useful purpose, but as proud trophies of war — as an insult 
to the feelings of other nations, in time of peace, and en- 
gendering th?.t martial pride and vain glory on one side, and 
that mortified pride, rancor and animosity on the other, 
which are the fruitful sources of war. 

When swarms of Goths and Vandals, from the " northern 
hive," overran the christian world, Christianity was already 
corrupted, and these barbarians were converted to the 
christian faith, more by accommodating that faith to the 
customs of the worshippers of Odin and Thor, than by 
preaching the Gospel of Peace in its purity. 

A long age of darkness succeeded, when war was the 
order of the day ; and when the light of the Reformation 
dawned on a benighted world, it could not have been ex- 
pected, that all the shadows would at once flee away. We 
derived our religion from our ancestors, rather than, like 
the islanders of the Pacific, from the gospel, and of course 
we have inherited their prejudices ; but we have been grad- 
ually going on in reformation, and we have reason to hope, 
that that reformation will progress, until the purity of the 



THE PULriT STAIRS OF RURUTU. 243 

first professors of Christianity shall prevail over the whole 
earth, and the custom of war be abolished along with slavery 
and popery. 

In view of these facts, what ought to be the reflections of 
professing christians, in this favored land? How are their 
virtues eclipsed by these tawny sons of the " farthermost 
isles ! " Is the gospel preached to us in its purity ? If so, 
why not the same results ? Why this hum of busy prepara- 
tion for war ? Why, in time of profound peace, do we 
see christians — yes, professors — buckling on their armor, 
and perhaps spending the Sabbath eve in preparation for 
the Monday's muster 1 Some in regimentals and with 
arms, passed my house on the Sabbath for the muster-field 
— but these could hardly be christians. 

If, indeed, we believe like some, that men are without 
souls, and that they perish like the horses, that rush Avith 
them into the deadly conflict, we might console ourselves 
with the reflection, that their sufferings are soon to end, and 
therefore to effect a pacific change, is hardly worth the 
effort. Or if we believe that mankind are not moral agents, 
and that they are hurried on by a fatal necessity to blood 
and slaughter, that their carcasses may feed the vulture and 
the wolf, we might despair of effecting a change. 

Or if w^e thought, that icarriors, while agitated by all the 
most direful passions, and those passions heightened into 
madness by the intoxicating draught of mixed rum and 
gun-powder — which, worse than the fabled cup of Circe, 
transforms them not into brutes merely, but into devils — 
and breathing out revenge and wrath, and dealing death 
and destruction — in this state, while their bodies are shiv- 
ered to atoms by the bursting of a bomb, or flung into the 
air by the springing of a mine, their souls ascend to the 
blissful seats of paradise, to enjoy the smiles of that God 
who is love, and to hear the joyful sentence of " Come ye 
blessed of my Father;" and so, at once, be transformed 
into angels of light. I say, were these our sentiments, we 
might glory in war as the noblest employment of man, 



244 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

kindly hastening his fellow creatures to eternal happiness ; 
and might imagine, that God had set the Devil to do the 
work of Gabriel — that a battle was the harvest of Heaven, 
and the reaping of it committed to Moloch. 



LINES. 



Y OLIVER W. B. PEABODY. 



WHO that has gazed, in the stillness of even, 
On the fast fading hues of the west, 

Has seen not afar, in the bosom of heaven, 

Some bright little mansion of rest. 
And mourned that the path to a region so fair 

Should be shrouded with sadness and fears ; 
That the night-v/inds of sorrow, misfortune and care, 
Should sweep from the deep rolling waves of despair. 

To darken this cold world of tears ? 

And who that has gazed has not longed for the hour 

When misfortune forever shall cease ; 
And hope, like the rainbow, unfold through the shower 

Her bright-written promise of peace ? 
And O, if that rainbow of promise may shine 

On the last scene of life's wintry gloom. 
May its light in the moment of parting be mine ; 

1 ask but one ray from a source so divine, 
To brighten the vale of the tomb. 



2r 



PASSAGES IN HISTORY OF NEW-HAMPSHIRE. 



ALMA HALE. 



In 16S2 Edward Cranfield was appointed lieutenant- 
governor. He was to receive for his compensation, all the 
fines and forfeitures due and accruing to the king, and one 
fifth of all the rents due and accruing to Mason. He was 
authorized, by his commission, to negative all acts of the 
assembly, to suspend councillors, and to appoint a deputy- 
governor and all colonial officers. He did not hesitate to 
avow that he accepted the office with the expectation of 
enriching himself 

On his arrival, in 1682, he suspended two councillors, 
Waldron and Martyn, who had been active in opposing 
Mason ; and in a short time, by new appointments, filled all 
the offices with his adherents. Mason then brought a suit 
against Waldron, to try the validity of his title. Waldron 
made no defence, and judgment was rendered against him. 
Many other suits were brought; no defence was made; 
executions were issued, but only two or three were levied, 
and these levies were ineffectual, for no one would pur- 
chase or take a lease of the lands, and the former claimants 
continued to enjoy them. 

The tyranny and extortion of Cranfield and his subordi- 
nates goaded the people to desperation ; and they secretly 
sent an agent, Nathaniel Weare, to England with petitions 
for his removal. Major Vaughan accompanied him to 
Boston ; and, it being known that he had been employed to 
procure depositions to be forwarded to the agent in Lon- 



PASSAGES OF HISTORY. 247 

don, he was, on some pretext, committed to prison when he 
returned, and was kept nine months in confinement. 

Greedy for more money than he could gain by extortion, 
Cranfield summoned an assembly, and laid before them a 
bill for raising money to defend the province and to defray 
other necessary charges. The assembly refused to pass the 
bill ; when he, in a rage, told them that they had been to 
consult Moody and other enemies of the king and church 
of England, and dissolved them. In a spirit of revenge, 
he persuaded the courts of sessions to appoint several of 
the members constables for the ensuing year ; some of whom 
took the oath, and others paid the fine, which was ten 
pounds, and was one of his perquisites. 

This Moody was a Puritan clergyman, wiio had rendered 
himself obnoxious by the plainness of his pulpit discourses, 
and had, moreover, given offence by a highly-honorable 
enforcement of church discipline against a man whose 
cause Cranfield had espoused. The penal laws against 
non-conformists were then executed with great rigor in 
England ; and the governor, believing that his conduct 
would not be disavowed by his sovereign, declared, by pro- 
clamation, that all ministers, who should refuse to admin- 
ister the Lord's Supper, according to the Book of Common 
Prayer, to any one requiring it, should suffer the penalty 
imposed by the statute of uniformity. A short time after, 
he gave notice to Moody that he intended to partake of the 
Lord's Supper the next Sunday, and required him to ad- 
minister it according to the Liturgy. Moody refused, and 
was indicted for his refusal. At first, four of the six 
justices were for acquitting him ; but the trial being ad- 
journed, Cranfield found means to change the opinions of 
two of the four ; and he was sentenced to six months' con- 
finement. The two justices, who remained inflexible, were 
removed from all their offices. 

From Indian wars this colony suffered more than any of 
her sisters. The Indians who had been dismissed unharmed 
by Major Waldron, had not forgotten what they considered 



248 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

his breach of faith : some of those who had been sold into 
slavery had returned, and thirsted for revenge. New 
causes of offence had been given by Cranfield ; and Cas- 
tine, a Frenchman, who had a trading establishment east of 
the Penobscot, having been wronged, as he thought, by 
Andros, inflamed their animosity. In 1689, though peace 
prevailed, several tribes united to surprise Dover, and 
take vengeance on Waldron. Many houses were burned; 
much property was plundered ; and so expeditious were the 
Indians, that they had fled beyond reach before the neigh- 
boring people could be collected. 

The war thus commenced was prosecuted with great 
vigor. The French, by giving premiums for scalps, and by 
purchasing the English prisoners, animated the Indians to 
exert all their activity and address, and the frontier inhabi- 
tants endured the most aggravated sufferings. The settle- 
ments on Oyster River were again surprised ; twenty houses 
were burned, and nearly one hundred persons were killed 
or made prisoners. Other towns were attacked, many per- 
sons slain, and many carried into captivity. The peace of 
Ryswick, in 1697, closed the distressing scene. In 1703, 
another war began, which continued ten years. 

From 1722 to 1726, the inhabitants again suffered the 
afflictions of an Indian war. Following the example of the 
French, the government offered premiums for scalps, which 
induced several volunteer companies to undertake expe- 
ditions against the enemy. One of these, commanded by 
Captain Lovewell, was greatly distinguished, at first by its 
success, and afterwards by its misfortunes. 

A history of these Indian wars might be interesting, but 
would not be instructive. An account of the continual 
quarrels between the assignees of Mason and the people; 
between the governors and the assemblies; between the 
governors and lieutenant-governors ; and between Massa- 
chusetts and New Hampshire concerning boundaries, would 
be neither. It may not be unimportant to allude to the fre- 
quent contests between the surveyors of the king's woods 



PASSAGES OF HISTORY. 249 

and the people. It was the duty of this officer to mark, 
with a broad arrow, all pine trees suitable for the royal 
navy ; and these the people were forbidden to cut. The 
prohibition was often violated, and prosecutions were fre- 
quently instituted. Sometimes logs were seized at the mill, 
and then forcible resistance was not unusual. Once the 
surveyor, with his assistants, went to Exeter to seize logs, 
but on the evening of his arrival was attacked by a party 
dressed and painted like Indians, and severely beaten. The 
dispute about boundaries was decided, by the king, contrary 
to the plain letter of the charters, in favor of New Hamp- 
shire, for the reason, it has been hinted, that, by so de- 
ciding, the land bearing the best of mast trees would be 
assigned to her, in which case they would be the property 
of the crown, while all that grew in Massachusetts belonged 
to that colony. 

Long after the transfer from Mason to Allen, some defect 
in the conveyance was discovered, which rendered it void. 
In 1746, John Tufton Mason, a descendant of the original 
grantee, claiming the lands possessed by his ancestors, con- 
veyed them, for fifteen hundred pounds, to twelve persons, 
subsequently called the Masonian proprietors. They, to 
silence opposition, voluntarily relinquished their claim to 
the lands already occupied by others. 

They also granted townships on the most liberal terms. 
Reserving certain portions of the land for themselves, for 
the first settled ministers, and for schools, they required 
merely that the grantees should, within a limited time, erect 
mills and meeting houses, clear out roads, and settle min- 
isters of the gospel. In process of time, nearly all the Ma- 
sonian lands, being about one fourth of the whole, were, in 
this manner, granted ; and contention and lawsuits ceased 
to disturb the repose, and to impede the prosperity, of the 
colony. ' 



TO THE AMERICAN EAGLE. 



SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF WM. LADD. 



BY MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON. 



Bird of my country's pride, mongst the stars soaring', 
Millions gaze on tliy flight, ahnosL adoring; 
Freedom hath given thine eye fire from her altar; 
Thou, o'er the mountains, free, fl^iest — nor dost falter. 

In thy strong talons' grasp shine the red quivers. 
Keen as the lightning's fork that the rock shivers; 
Holdst thou thine olive-bough. Eagle, as surely ? 
Guardest thou well its leaf? — safely ? — securely.'' 

One eye has gazed on thee, in thy pride soaring, 
Care for that sacred bough ever imploring ; 
Vigil no longer tliat wearied eye keepeth ! 
Eagle, thine olive-bough guard while he sleepeth. 

Proudly that eye of thine glanceth and flasheth, 
Long'st thou thy wing to poise where the steel clasheth.'' 
Long'st thou thy beak to dip in the red river.'' 
Eagle, thine olive-bough — guard it for ever ! 

Yet should thy kindling eye haughty foes madden, 
Then should thy soul of pride clashing steel gladden, 
Stoop where that sleeper lies 'neath the lone willow. 
Stoop, and thine olive-branch lay on his pillow. 

Sleep saint! — the trumpet's blast shall not alarm thee, 
Sleep — and the battle-shock never shall harm thee; 
Sleep — and the war-cry shall startle thee, never; 
Sleep, "child of God," thou art peaceful for ever ! 



GOD IS LOVE. 



BY HOSEA BALLOU. 



When my astonished eyes behold 
My Maker's works below, above, 

And read his name in lines of gold, 
1 surely know that " God is love." 

When I observe his written word. 
And when his gifts of grace I prove, 

With joyful heart I praise the Lord, 

For saith the scriptures, " God is love." 

What gentle streams of pleasure roll ! 

What quickening from the mystic dove 
Now peace divine fills all my soul. 

And I can shout that " God is love." 

Now heavenly courage I '11 put on. 
For far away my fears it drove ; 

1 '11 bow before the living Son, 

And loud proclaim my " God is love." 



EDUCATION IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 



BY REV. NATHANIEL BOUTON. 



The system of education now prevalent in New England 
is the offspring of the personal character and of the civil 
and religious polity of the first settlers. To give therefore 
the history of education in a particular State, we must 
revert to the original settlers, and ascertain the motives 
which governed them. 

If then we ask, first, what induced the Puritans in Hol- 
land ; and next, what, those in England of the Massachu- 
setts colony, to emigrate to this country — the answer is 
one. It was chiefly to enjoy and propagate their religion; 
but next to this and subsidiary to it, it was to educate their 
children. One reason which determined the Puritan pil- 
grims upon a removal from Leyden was, " that the place 
being of great licentiousness and liberty to children ; they 
could not educate them, nor could they give them due 
correction without reproof or reproach from their neigh- 
bors." Among the general considerations for the planta- 
tion of New England, Cotton Mather mentions, "Fifthly — 
the schools of learning and religion are so corrupted, as 
(beside the unsupportable charge of education) most chil- 
dren, even the best and wittiest and of the fairest hopes, 
are perverted, corrupted, and utterly overthrown by the 
multitude of evil examples and licentious behaviors in these 
seminaries." Though the object of the company of La- 
conia — of Mason and Gorges — was different from that 
of the Puritans ; though Thompson and the Hiltons who 
began the settlements at Dover and Portsmouth, came over 



EDUCATION IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 253 

to cultivate the vine, to fish and to trade ; yet as the subse- 
quent history will show, the views of the Plymouth and 
Massachusetts colonists extended their influence to these 
places* 

The names of Purmont and Maud as school-masters in 
Boston, connect the history of education in New Hampshire 
with that of Massachusetts. For Purmont removed with 
John Wheelright to Exeter in 1638, and Maud was called 
from Boston to be minister of Dover in 1642. 

How reasonable, moreover, is it to presume that our 
brother Philemon Purmont did not give up his vocation of 
" teaching and nurturing children," upon his removal to 
Exeter — and that Mr. Daniel Maud, who was school- 
master in Boston, probably six years, did not neglect to 
instruct the children of his flock, during the fifteen years, 
in which he was the " honest, quiet, and peaceable minis- 
ter " of Dover. The character of New Hampshire ministers, 
in that period, favors the opinion that education was not 
neglected. Mr. James Parker who officiated in Portsmouth, 
1643, was " a godly man and a scholar." Of the Rev. 
Timothy Dalton, minister in Hampton from 1639 to 1661, 
a poet of his day sung, 

" Dalton doth teach perspicuously and sound." 

His successor, Rev. Seaborn Cotton, was a thorough 
scholar and a diligent student — the first graduate from 
Harvard College who settled in the ministry in New Hamp- 
shire. Rev. Samuel Dudley of Exeter, from 1650 to 1683, 
was '' of good capacity and learning." Rev. John Reyner 
of Dover, from 1657 to 1669, " was a wise orderer of the 
aff*airs of the church, and had an excellent talent of training 
up children in a catechetical way, in the grounds of the 
christian religion." But above all the rest, the Rev. Joshua 
Moody of Portsmouth, from 1658 to 1697, was " a person 
whom an eminency both in sense and in grace had made 
considerable." At his death, says Mather, '' the church of 
Portsmouth, (a part of the country that very much owed 
22 



254 THE N E W - H A M P S H I R E BOOK. 

its life unto him,) cries out of a deadly wound. His labors 
in the gospel were frequent and fervent ; whereof the press 
hath given some lasting, as the pulpit gave many lively tes- 
timonies." He wrote more than four thousand sermons ; 
and was so eminent for learning and piety, that he was in- 
vited to the presidency of Harvard College. From his 
friends and admirers he received the honorary title of 
angelical doctor. 

Another fact shows still more clearly the interest felt in 
the subject of education, during this period. In 1669, 
a general collection or subscription was proposed to be 
taken through the Colonies, to aid in erecting a new edifice 
for Harvard College. Portsmouth " which was now become 
the richest" town in this Colony, made a subscription of 
sixty pounds annually for seven years ; Dover gave thirty- 
two pounds, and Exeter ten. With their subscription the 
inhabitants of Portsmouth sent an address to the General 
Court of Massachusetts, in which they say, "though we 
have articled with yourselves for exemption from public 
charges, yet we have never articled with God and our own 
consciences for exemption from gratitude ; which to dem- 
onstrate, while we were studying, the loud groans of the 
sinking College in its present low estate came to our ears ; 
the relieving of which we account a good work for the 
house of our God, and needful for the perpetuating of 
knowledge both civil and religious, among us and our pos- 
terity after us." 

It deserves honorable mention, that most of our approved 
elementary and higher class books, are the productions of 
New-Hampshire men. Nicholas Pike, v/hose arithmetic 
has been in use for fifty years past, and is known through 
New England, was a native of Somersworth. Caleb 
Bingham was a graduate of Dartmouth College, and there 
laid the plan of his valuable school books, of which more 
than a million of copies have been published and sold. 

Of native, or resident living authors, whose works are 
found in most of our school?, it is sufficient praise to name 



EDUCATION IN NEW II A M T S H I R E . Mo^ 

Kelly's Spelling Book, Adams' Arithmetic, Blake's Histori- 
cal Pveader and Geography, Hildreth's book for New- 
Hampshire children, Putnam's Grammar and Analytical 
Reader, Hale's History of the United States, Farmer's 
Historical Catechism and Constitution of New Hampshire, 
Leavitt's Geography, and Vose's Astronomy. 

To obtain a more complete view of public education in 
New Hampshire, we must look also to other colleges. The 
number of New-Hampshire students who are known to have 
graduated at Dartmouth, and at colleges out of the State, 
since the year 1800, is 825. 

The number of students belonging to New-Hampshire 
connected with different colleges, in 1831, 170; equal to 
one in 1500 of the whole population. In Massachusetts, 
the same year, the proportion was one to 1121 ; in Connecti- 
cut, one to 1455 ; while the proportion in Maine, was one 
to 2550 ; in Vermont, one to 2800 ; in Rhode-Island, one 
to 3031 ; in New York, one to 3500, and in the southern 
and western States, one to about 6000. Thus New Hamp- 
shire ranks in public education above all the States in the 
Union, except Massachusetts and Connecticut; and with 
laudable pride I may add, in this elevated rank, she is above 
every country in the world, except Scotland and Baden in 
Germany. 

. Much more may yet be done for education in New Hamp- 
shire. New England owes her intellectual and moral glory 
primarily to her religion, secondarily to her schools. Al- 
though, then, we cannot compete with our brethren of the 
middle and western States in the gigantic race of wealth, 
population and internal improvements ; yet we may retain 
our preeminence in education and in moral and religious 
character. When their numbers shall be augmented to fifty 
or eighty millions ; their cultivated fields extend from the 
Alleghany to the base of the Rocky Mountains ; when in the 
councils of the nation, our representatives shall be counted 
as an insignificant minority — then let our intellects, our en- 
lightened views, our solid arguments, our eloquence and our 



256 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

moral dignity, secure us respect, and make our voices to be 
heard in the halls of legislation. Did it not imply partiality, 
I could not forbear to name some genuine sons of New 
Hampshire, trained up in our primary schools, academies 
and colleges, whose influence is co-extensive with the Union. 
Let it suffice New-Hampshire, that two of her sons be- 
long to the cabinet council of the nation — that our 
ARMY and our navy, directed by their wisdom, are becom- 
ing as distinguished for their temperance as they are re- 
nowned for their valor. 

Need I add, it is the soundest policy of a state to 
encourage education ? That this is, at once, an effective 
check to crime and barrier to pauperism ? that it inspires 
noble sentiments — holds under restraint the baser passions 
— ennobles virtue, and is one guaranty of the permanence 
of our republican institutions? Were it befitting the occa- 
sion, I would say to our honored rulers — If it is your am- 
bition to benefit and to please the people who have endow- 
ed you with authority ; if in your public administration you 
would acquire lasting honor ; if you would stamp the char- 
acter of intelligence and virtue upon the face of the whole 
people ; if you would promote industry, order and happi- 
ness iif every family, and secure to future generations the 
rich blessings which we now enjoy — in short, if you would 
raise the State in which you have the honor to be rulers, 
to a still higher rank, and place her, like the summit of her 
own mountains, above all the rest of the Union — then pro- 
mote the interests of education ! The sovereign voice of 
the people bids you do it ! Were the law of 1S27 restored, 
with the addition of the fifth section of the act of January 4, 
1833 ; were a penalty also laid on towns or selectmen, for 
neglect of appointing and sustaining a superintending com- 
mittee ; were grand jurors sworn as in former times, to pre- 
sent all breaches of this law ; and were academies and higher 
seminaries founded to raise up well-qualified teachers, then 
New Hampshire would be second to no State in the good 
education of her children. Then her free institutions would 



EDUCATION IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 257 

be stable, and her character solid and weighty as the gran- 
ite of her mountains. 

Finally, to give New-Hampshire youth, " that complete 
and generous education which fits a man to perform justly, 
skilfully and magnanimously, all the offices both public and 
private, of peace and war," there is needed a higher semi- 
nary or college, in which study and manual labor shall be 
conjoined. Manual labor, as part of a system of public ed- 
ucation, has of late years engaged the attention of literary, 
scientific and practical men. The opinion has obtained 
extensive currency, and is supported by facts, that two or 
three hours a day spent by students in labor would emi- 
nently conduce to the great ends of a public education. 
Such labor, taken at regular intervals, does not retard pro- 
gress in study ; it creates interest, and gives energy to the 
mind ; promotes industry ; gives a knowledge of useful arts ; 
is eminently favorable to morality, and developes and fixes 
the manlier features of character. Moreover, by greatly 
lessening the expense, it places the means of education 
within the reach of all ; disparages useless distinctions in 
society; is most consonant to our republican institutions ; 
preserves health and prolongs life ; increases the power and 
extends the field of personal usefulness, and gives that per- 
fect symmetry to both body and mind, which the Author of 
nature designed in their conjoined creation, and Mdiich, 
united with love to mankind and love to God, constitutes 
human perfection. 

May it be our happiness to see such an institution reared 
in New Hampshire — a proof that we are not ungrateful for 
the blessings of education, secured by the wisdom and lib- 
erality of our fiithers ; nor unmindful of the duties which 
we owe to posterity. 

33* 



THE MIRACLE. 



B Y CH ARLE S J . FOX 



Mid-day upon Judea's plains. The air 
Was hot and parched and motionless. There came 
And sate beside a fountain underneath 
The shadow of a palm, a Jewish mother, 
And in her arms her first-born. He liad been 
A beautiful boy and laughing, with an eye 
Beaming with love and gladness, and fair hair 
That clustered round his forehead and fell down 
In curly ringlets. On his cheek were sealed 
Love's rosiest dimples. Well might she be proud 
Of her fair child, and all her soul seemed bound 
In his existence. But the rose had faded 
From his full cheek, and from his eye the light 
Of gladness now was passing. In their stead 
The hectic and the glare of fever burned, 
Cheating her hopes with seeming, till the moan 
Wrung out by anguish, and the quick deep breath, 
Told the reality ! 

And he must die ! 
Her beautiful and precious ! — He must fade 
Like a torn flower at noon-day, and be laid 
In the cold grave to moulder. But she clung 
To hope even in despair, for not till death 
A mother's hope shall falter. So she pressed 
The curls aside that shaded his high brow, 
And when the fresh breeze fanned him, he looked up 
And faintly smiled, and murmured, while she breathed 
A softened lullaby. 

Now lay thee down and sleep ! 
My beautiful, my first-born ! — for the breeze 
Is fanning thee, and the fountain's melodies 

In lulling music creep. 

Sleep on thy mother's breast ! 
So fair ! it cannot be that thou shalt die ! 
God ! who hast given him, bend down thine eye ! 

Hear thou my fond request ! 



THE MIRACLE. 259 



How dear art thou, my boy ! 
How have I watched thy slumbers, seen thee smile, 
And heard thee lisp thy father's name the while, 

With more than mortal joy ! 

What ! art thou murmuring now ? 
Dreaming of pleasant fields, and beautiful flowers, 
And chasing butterflies in summer hours 

With flushed and joyous brow ? 

Moaning ? How hot his cheek ! 
Would that thy mother could but bear thy pain I 
Oh ! would that I could see thee smile again ! 

How pale ! Oh ! wake thee ! speak ! 

Suddenly there came 
Over his face a tremor, and a chill. 
And ashy paleness. Could it be indeed 
That he was dead ! 

Morn on the hills ! There was a multitude. 
And one within their midst spake to the crowd, 

" Like one who had authority.'" At his words, 
Of awe and yet of comfort, all were bowed 
In wondering silence. Then to his feet there sprang 
That mother with her boy upon her breast. 
Her own dead boy, — and knelt her down and wept. 

" Master ! thou canst ; — speak but the word — he lives! " 
Then he bent down, and raised her quick, and smiled, 
And pointed up to heaven, — as he would say, 

" JVay ! not to me the praise ! 'Tis he, the Father, 
Who giveth and who taketh. Bless his name 
That he hath healed thine anguish ! " 

" Mother ! dear mother ! " 
Oh ! who can tell how deep a gladness filled 
Her stricken heart, when the fair child looked up. 
And whispered, " Mother ! " Think ye, did not her soul 
Swell with thanksgiving to her God, who bowed 
And heard her prayers ? 

Yet the same power that bade 
The stilled pulse beat, the glared eye beam again. 
Upholds us every moment. Did his hand 
Cease to support an instant, what were we, 
But clods of earth as lifeless as the dust 
We tread beneath us ? Shall not we then praise. 
Even with that mother's joy. Him who hath made 
And kept us, and still keeps us ! — Him whose eye. 
Unsleeping, watches o'er each step, each breath, 
Whether we wake or slumber ? 



THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. 



BY REV.IIOSEA BALLOU. 

One of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name, 
came to Jesus, and falling down at his feet, besought him 
most earnestly, saying, ''my little daughter lies at the point 
of death. I pray thee come and lay thine hands upon her, 
that she may be healed, and she shall live." The com- 
passionate Saviour was moved at a petition which flowed 
so directly from a parent's heart, and which indicated such 
strong faith in his power to heal. Immediately he went 
with the afflicted father. No sooner was it known that he 
was going to heal the sick child, than a great crowd of 
people followed, and pressed hard upon him. In this vast 
concourse was a woman, who had been afflicted for twelve 
years with a distressing disorder, " and had suffered many 
things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, 
and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse." 

This afflicted woman had lost all hope of recovery by the 
assistance of human skill; indeed, she was poor and penni- 
less. Her little estate had already passed into the hands of 
her physicians, who instead of doing her any good, had 
caused her many painful sufferings. Destitute, alone, and 
friendless, a thought came into her mind, and it imme- 
diately formed itself into a resolution, accompanied with 
a perfect confidence, that if she could by any means pass 
through the crowd so as but to touch the clothes of Jesus, 
she should be made whole. 

It is scarcely possible to imagine a circumstance more 
calculated to excite exertion than this. She was no doubt 



THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. 261 

very feeble. A great multitude of people were crowding 
and pressing to keep close to Jesus, that they might 
not miss of seeing the miracle. The difficulty of getting 
through the crowd was, no doubt, very great ; but salvation 
was so near and so desirable, that it invigorated her feeble 
system to such a degree that her efforts were availing. We 
may, perhaps, form some idea of the manner of her exertions 
upon this occasion. She would naturally direct her eyes 
toward Jesus, and would catch a glimpse of him as often as 
possible. When it so happened that she could by the 
greatest exertion get before one of the crowd, she never let 
the opportunity slip by unimproved. Each step gained was 
cautiously kept. She was careful that no one should crowd 
her back. She speaks not a word to any one, lest she should 
miss an opportunity to advance. The nearer she comes to 
the prize the stronger and more active she grows, till she 
eagerly reaches forth her hand and touches the garment of 
the Saviour. She now realizes her faith ; her confidence 
has not deceived her ; she is made whole ! 

Although she did not once think that the Saviour was 
apprehensive of her approach, yet he who knew the very 
thoughts of men's hearts, who saw Nathaniel under the 
fig-tree afar off, already knew her case, her faith, and the 
efforts which she had made to come to him. Immediately 
as she touched his garment he turned himself about in the 
press, and, as if surprised that any one should touch him, 
said, "who touched my clothes?" The disciples, ignorant 
of the particular cause, and surprised that their master 
should ask who touched him, when so pressed with the 
crowd of people all around him, said to him : " Thou seest 
the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, who touched 
me ? " Jesus made them no reply, but cast his eyes around 
to see who had done this thing, when the woman, fearing 
and trembling, knowing what she had done, came and fell 
down before him, and told him all the truth. And he said 
unto her, " daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole ; go in 
peace, and be whole of thy plague ! " 



262 THE NE W-IIAMPSHIRE li O O K . 

Between the disorders of the human body and those of 
the mind, there seems to be no small resemblance. Both 
are the natural productions of the constitution of the crea- 
ture. Both are promoted by the indulgence of appetite and 
passion. Both become inveterate by habit. Natural blind- 
ness and ignorance of divine things are so very similar that 
the Scriptures use the same word to signify both, and the 
Saviour represents sinners as those who are sick. As there 
were no natural disorders which were too stubborn for the 
miraculous power of Jesus to remove ; no demoniac so 
raving that Jesus could not clothe him in his right mind ; 
none so strongly locked in the dark house of death that he 
could not call them thence ; so there is no sin so chronical, 
so inveterate, as to be beyond the power of divine mercy to 
wash away. The blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin. 
All death, sorrow, and crying shall cease. Pains and dis- 
orders shall no more be felt, nor temptations trouble the 
lovers of God, but the blessed hand of the once-crucified 
shall wipe the tears from off all faces. 



COMMERCE. 



BY JAjNIES T. fields. 



Harp of the sea ! bold minstrel of the deep ! 
Sound from your halls where proud armadas sleep ; 
Ring from the waves a strain of other days, 
When first rude Commerce poured her feeble raysj 
Tell what rich burdens India's princes bore 
Of balmy spices to the Arab's shore ; 
What mines of wealth on Traffic's dauntless wings 
Sailed down from Egypt to the Syrian kings ; 
By what mischance, those wonders of their hour, 
The fleets of Carthage and the Tyrian power, 
Were lost, and vanished like the meteor ray 
That flashes nightly through the milky- way : 
Sing of the Grecian States, that warlike band 
Which held the ocean in its dread command ; 
Of Coesar's glory, when his navies furled 
Their sails before the granary of the world ; 
Of Afric's spoils by Vandals rent away, 
And Eastern empires waning to decay. 

Stand forth, old Venice — Genoa — Pisa — Rome ! 
With all your galleys on the crested foam ; 
Say, where are now your royal merchants seen ? 
Go ask the Red-Cross Knight at Palestine ! 

And thou, great Prince of Florence, — wise and free, 
With pride on history's scroll thy name we see ; 
And while entranced, that brilliant page we find 
Gemmed with the trophies of a cultured mind ; 
Another name demands the just applause 
Of friends of Commerce, and her equal laws ; 
Thine was a light that o'er broad Europe shone. 
And Pvoscoe's fame shall mingle with thine own ! 

But lo ! what crov^'ds on Albion's shore arise, 
Of noble fleets with costly merchandise; 
What swift-winged ships rush in from every strand, 
To swell the coffers of her teeming land. 
While lofty flags proclaim on every breeze 
The island queen, — the mistress of the seas ! 



264 THE NEW -II A MPS HIRE BOOK. 



Look to the West — the Elysian borders view ! 
See where from Palos speeds yon wearied crew : 
Haste, ere the vision to your eye grows dim, 
O'er rock and forest comes the Mayflower's hymn: 
Fleet as the night-star fades in brightening day, 
That exiled pilgrim-band has passed away ; 
But where their anchors marked a dreary shore, 
When first thanksgivings rose for perils o'er, 
A nation's banner tills the murmuring air, 
And freedom's ensign wantons gaily there. 

Oh, glorious stripes ! no stain your honor mars : 
Wave ! ever wave ! our country's flag of stars ! 
Float till old time shall shroud the sun in gloom, 
And this proud empire seeks its laurelled tomb. 

But brief my lay ; the fairy land of song 
Holds me a truant in its maze too long ; 
Yet chide me not, if lingering on the shore, 
I cast one pebble to the ripples more. 

Our Yankee ships ! in fleet career, 

They linger not behind, 
Where gallant sails from other lands 

Court favoring tide and wind. 
With banners on the breeze, they leap 

As gaily o'er the foam 
As stately barks from prouder seas, 

That long have learned to roam. 

The Indian wave with luring smiles 

Swept round them bright to-day; 
And havens to Atlantic isles 

Are opening on their way ; 
Ere yet these evening shadows close. 

Or this frail song is o'er. 
Full many a straining mast will rise 

To greet a foreign shore. 

High up the lashing northern deep, 

Where glimmering watch-lights beam, 
Away in beauty where the stars 

In tropic brightness gleam ; 
Where'er the sea-bird wets her beak, 

Or blows the stormy gale ; 
On to the water's farthest verge 

Our ships majestic sail. 

They dip their keels in every stream 

That swells beneath the sky; 
And where old ocean's billows roll, 

Their lofty pennants fly : 
They furl their sheets in threatening clouds 

That float across the main, 
To link with love earth's distant bays 

In many a golden chain. 



DUTIES OF AMERICAN MOTHERS. 



BY DANIEL WEBSTER. 



It is by the promulgation of sound morals in the com- 
munity, and more especially by the training and instruction 
of the young, that woman performs her part towards the 
preservation of a free government. It is now generally 
admitted, that public liberty, the perpetuity of a free con- 
stitution, rests on the virtue and intelligence of the. com- 
munity which enjoys it. How is that virtue to be inspired, 
and how is that intelligence to be communicated 1 Bona- 
parte once asked Madame de Stael in what manner he could 
most promote the happiness of France. Her reply is full 
of political wisdom. She said — '' Instruct the mothers of 
the French people." Because the mothers are the affec- 
tionate and effective teachers of the human race. The 
mother begins this process of training with the infant in 
her arms. It is she who directs, so to speak, its first men- 
tal and spiritual pulsations. She conducts it along the 
impressible years of childhood and youth ; and hopes to 
deliver it to the rough contests and tumultuous scenes of 
life, armed by those good principles which her child has 
first received from maternal care and love. 

If we draw within the circle of our contemplation the 
mothers of a civilized nation, what do we see ? We be- 
hold so many artificers working, not on frail and perishable 
matter, but on the immortal mind, moulding and fashioning 
beings who are to exist for ever. We applaud the artist 
whose skill and genius present the mimic man upon the 
canvass — we admire and celebrate the sculptor who works 
23 



266 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

out that same image in enduring marble — but how insig- 
nificant are these achievements, though the highest and the 
fairest in all the department of art, in comparison with the 
great vocation of human mothers ! They work not upon 
the canvass that shall fail, or the marble that shall crumble 
into dust — but upon mind, upon spirit, which is to last for 
ever, and which is to bear, for good or evil, throughout its 
duration, the impress of a mother's plastic hand, 

I have already expressed the opinion, which all allow to 
be correct, that our security for the duration of the free 
institutions which bless our country, depends upon the habits 
of virtue and the prevalence of knowledge and of educa- 
tion. Knowledge does not comprise all which is contained 
in the larger term of education. The feelings are to be 
disciplined — the passions are to be restrained — true and 
worthy motives are to be inspired — a profound religious 
feeling is to be instilled, and pure morality inculcated, 
under all circumstances. All this is comprised in educa- 
tion. Mothers who are faithful to this great duty, will tell 
their children that neither in political nor in any other 
concerns of life, can man ever withdraw himself from the 
perpetual obligations of conscience and of duty : that in 
every act, whether public or private, he incurs a just 
responsibility ; and that in no condition is he warranted in 
trifling with important rights and obligations. They will 
impress upon their children the truth, that the exercise of 
the elective franchise is a social duty, of as solemn a nature 
as man can be called to perform ; that a man may not in- 
nocently trifle with his vote; that every free elector is a 
trustee as well for others as himself; and that every man 
and every measure he supports, has an important bearing 
on the interests of others as well as on his own. It is in 
the inculcation of high and pure morals such as these, that 
in a free republic, woman performs her sacred duty, and 
fulfils her destiny. The French are remarkable for their 
fondness for sententious phrases, in which much meaning is 
condensed into a small space. I noticed lately, on the title 



DUTIES OF AMERICAN MOTHERS. 267 

pnge of one of the books of popular instruction in France, 
this motto — '' Pour instruction on the heads of the people ; 
you owe them that baptism." And certainly, if there 
be any duty which may be described by a reference to that 
great institute of religion, a duty approaching it in impor- 
tance, perhaps next to it in obligation, it is this. 



THE TAREWELL. 



BY MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS 



Now fare thee well, my own dear babe ! dark fate hath left for me 
No pang more bitter than the grief of parting thus with thee ; 
Thou 'rt gone and slumbering low I — in vain these scalding tears are 

shed ; 
In vain I press thy cold, cold form, my own, my precious dead ! 

Ah ! little deemed my careless heart, when warm in life I pressed 
The softness of thy velvet cheek, and hushed thee on my breast. 
And caught the fragrance of thy breath, the laughter of thine eye, 
Ah ! little deemed my careless heart so fair a thing could die. 

Though many a glorious dream was mine, and many a vision rare, 
I had no thought of happiness in which thou didst not share ; 
And Hope in soothing accents spake of rapturous scenes to be, 
And sent her dove through future years for many a bough for thee. 

But all too soon the Spoiler came and marked thee for his prey ; 
Too soon within these fostering arms all faint and fading lay. 
Just like a pale and withering flower, thy loved and cherished form, 
Borne down in all its opening bloom by some o'ermastering storm. 

Though mine hath been full many a tear, and many a bitter wo, 
And many a drear and boding fear that mothers only know ; 
Yet when beside thy dying bed I trembled, wept, and prayed, 
All other griefs grew light to think I could not give thee aid. 

And when with bursting heart I came, and o'er thee wildly bent, 
And saw that little quivering frame with wild convulsions rent. 
And caught the low and murmuring groan, the faint and struggling 

breath, 
I could — I think I could have died to win thee back from death. 



Full well I knew life's flowery maze thy feet should never tread. 
Yet when they came with solemn phrase and told me thou wert dead, 
I feared to look upon thy face for fear mine eye might see 
Mid death's still grace some wakening trace of life and agony. 



THE FAREWELL. 



But hours passed on ; — thou didst not wake ; — forever in thy breast 
The mortal strife of death and hfe was sweetly hushed to rest; 
I came ; — that throbbing pulse was still, so wrung with pain Ijefore, 
And that soft eye was turned to mine with joyous look no more. 

I know the angels' lot is thine ; I know that thou art blest, 
Where no wild dream of earthly wo shall haunt thy peaceful rest; 
Yet mid the yearnings of its love this heart laments thee still, 
For thou hast left a void within no earthly gift can fill. 

But fare thee well ! — around thy bed the wintry wind shall rave, 
And summer sunbeams warmly smile and autumn's harvests wave ; 
And spring shall come with balmy breath to dress the flowery lea, 
And bring the rose and violet back, and every flower but thee ! 



23* 



SECTARIANISM AND INFIDELITY. 



BY RALPH EMERSON, D.D. 

When the remarkable era of Bible Societies arose on the 
Church, near the commencement of our age, she seemed 
herself, for awhile, awe-struck and lost in holy wonder and 
peaceful delight. The gowned prelate and the humblest 
dissenting presbyter, — the Methodist, the Baptist, the Qua- 
ker, the dullest formalist and the most raving fanatic, the 
Antinomian, the Arminian and even the Socinian, — all 
found themselves strangely met together, not for some dread 
and unearthly struggle for final supremacy, but, for the first 
time, on a common platform, and in the metropolis of Prot- 
estantism, in the presence of thousands of every name and 
grade, with blandest eye and accent, to greet each other as 
christian brethren. Delight followed the surprise of so un- 
wonted a meeting ; and the surprise increased the delight. 
How they were all brought there, none could tell. A voice, 
better than that of the Hermit, seemed to have summoned 
them to a holier crusade against the common foe. Their 
pledges of unity appeared, and were sincere. The voice of 
their cordial greetings rolled far and wide through the ranks 
of their diverse communions, and were fondly, alas ! too 
fondly received as the pledge, not only of a new era in chris- 
tian activity, but also of a new dispensation, in which the 
voice of sectarian strife should be heard no more. And, 
indeed, for a season, a goodly one, the harsh notes of im- 
memorial discord died away to a whisper. It was soon dis- 
covered, however, that the age for ending all controversy 
between religious sects had not yet come ; (nor would we 
by any means intimate that the amicable discussion of dis- 



SECTARIANISM AND INFIDELITY. 271 

puted points, should ever be entirely dropped in this world;) 
it was found, or imagined to be found, that some sects had 
begun rather adroitly to avail themselves of the quiet truce, 
for the goodly purpose of bringing all Christendom into a 
still closer union, — an exact union with their oion right 
views and usages. And from that moment, whether it were 
suspicion or fact at first, the wild-fire again spread from sect 
to sect. For a long time the voice of contention, if not so 
harsh and criminating in all sects, has been at least as strong 
and decided as ever. The temporary suspension, though 
followed to a good extent by the milder spirit it was fitted to 
infuse, has yet, by the blasting of hopes so fondly cherished, 
been likewise followed by a more deliberate and decided 
purpose, in perhaps every sect, to maintain its own ground 
and spread its dominion ; — in some with more, in others 
with less of sectarian zeal and sectarian measures. 

In the mean time, every sect has advanced with the rapid 
advance of our population. And their own increase is care- 
fully registered by many of the sects, and loudly heralded in 
their periodical reports as though it were a proof that them- 
selves are soon to fill the land. New sects, too, if really 
new sects there can now be, are rising up, — for instance, 
the Mormons, — all claiming to be the original and genuine 
stock of Israel, 

And there is yet another circumstance bearing directly 
and strongly on our subject. Nearly all these sects are 
rapidly rising into eminence in regard to learning, as well 
as numbers. This is the fact with more than one which, 
a few years ago, were glorying in their ignorance ; now 
they have their theological seminaries. They discarded and 
contemned all traditionary evidence in respect to doctrinal 
truth and ecclesiastical rites and offices ; now they are ex- 
ploring the antiquities of the church, in zealous quest of 
proofs in support of their own peculiarities ; and sentences 
from the early fathers grace their controversial pages and 
are familiarly rehearsed to their congregations. 

Instead of complaining, however, we count it all joy that 



272 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



1 



it is so. A resort to this additional and legitimate source 
of argument will ultimately have its benign and elevating 
effect on every sect. We only adduce the fact in its bear- 
ing on ecclesiastical literature. Every sect, if not every 
minister, has begun to feel its indispensable importance. 
The Baptist, the Congregationalist, the Presbyterian, the 
Quaker, the Prelatist — all zealously plead prescription. 
And even the Mormons not long since employed an enlight- 
ened Jewish convert to teach them Hebrew ! What, then, 
is to be the fate of that sect, if such there be, that shall neg- 
lect to defend itself against weapons drawn from the ancient 
arsenal ? And how is this defence to be made, except by 
weapons from the same source ? When the Protestant Re- 
formers were overwhelming the Pope with this armor, he 
put the youthful Baronius in a course of training for this 
species of defence, and bade him devote his life to the writ- 
ing of Christian Annals for the support of his tottering 
throne. And, next to political machinations and the civil 
sword, it proved its best support. 

But this brings us to say, that we have controversies from 
without, that imperiously demand an acquaintance with the 
doctrines and usages of the early church. This same pope- 
ry, if met at all to any good purpose, is still to be met with 
the sword of the Spirit in the right hand, and the shield of 
ecclesiastical history in the left. Both are indispensable to 
the success of any combatant in this long and recently re- 
viving conflict. Prescription is here, indeed, the main plea. 
And who can deal with such an argument, without know- 
ing the grounds on which it rests ? 

Infidels, too, and skeptics of every class, from the days of 
Voltaire and Gibbon and Hume, have delighted to assail 
Christianity within the citadel of her own literature. Gen- 
erally, they hate the word of God too bitterly to study it 
enough to learn even its more plausible points of assault. 
But history is often their delight, as it has been so exten- 
sively their triumphant boast. To glean the scandal of the 
church and her inconsistencies, and place them in their 



SECTARIANISM AND INFIDELITY. 273 

most revolting attitudes, and then charge the whole on 
Christianity itself, has been their favorite and most success- 
ful mode of warfare, from the early periods of Celsus and of 
Porphyry, down to the now famous Strauss, who is at this 
moment agitating Germany afresh by another publication, 
— '^The Christian Dogma in its contest with Science." 

Nor are these contests confined to those who move in the 
higher walks of literature. It is truly marvellous to see 
with what celerity the essence of some new moral malaria 
is invisibly wafted, by the prince of the power of the air, 
from a German or a French university to the lovely prairies 
of our far West. There our domestic missionary has to 
meet it in all its virulence ; and if too ignorant of the histo- 
ry of his own religion to comprehend or cope with the new 
difficulty, both he and his religion are branded afresh with 
the stigma of stupidity. 

Nor are these contests, whether from within or without, 
merely so much matter of unmitigated regret. Like their 
own baleful instigator, they are yet made to subserve some 
useful purposes. They are the needful fire to burn up the 
wood, hay and stubble in the fabric of every sect, and of the 
whole church. What, we may ask, would that church have 
been, had she never been assailed by foes from abroad ? 
Just what, in many respects, the quiet dark ages were 
making her. For what friend would ever have had the 
heart to shiver her unsound arguments for the truth ? And 
who can tell the amount of paralyzing superstitions that 
would have continued to cluster around those spurious 
materials ? 



THE DIVISION OF THE WORLD. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER. 



BY GEORGE W. HAVEN 



" Take ye the world," cried Jove, from highest heaven ; 
" Take ye the world ; to you it now is given; 

The world your lasting heritage shall be; 

Take then the gift, and share it brotherly." 

Then youth and age tumultuous sped amain, 
In hasty zeal each golden prize to gain ; 
The ploughman gleaned apace the nodding corn, 
While mid the forest rang the squire's loud horn. 

The merchant garnered wealth from every land ; 
And portly priests chose wines of choicest brand; 
While kings claimed tithes, and eke the right to lay 
Their tolls on bridges and the public way. 

When now was left nor earth nor earthly thing 
Unclaimed by lord or tradesman, priest or king; 
Forth from the shadowy realm of dream and song 
The heedless poet urged his steps along ; 

Then prostrate fell before the throne of love. 
And plaintive sought the listening ear of Jove : 
" Behold ! " he cried, " thy fondest son is left 
Houseless and poor, of every largess reft! " 

"And whose the fault," said Jove, "if 'twas thy will 
To dwell, mid shadowy dreams, in idlesse still ! 
Where wert thou lingering when the earth was given .'' 

" With thee ! " replied the poet, " in thy heaven. 

" Mine eye intent thy wondrous power to see, 
And rapt mine ear with heavenly harmony ; 
Forgive thy son, who, bent to praise thy name, 
Hath all forgot his heritage to claim." 

" The world," said Jove, "the world is mine no more, 
Claimed are its fields and marts on every shore ; 
But if thou 'It dwell within my heaven with me. 
Come when thou wilt, its gates shall open be." 



MIMES EY A NORTHMAN. 



BY BENJ. B . FRENCH 



The following: stanzas were addressed to the Hon. Warren E. Davis, a member of the United 
States House of Represeiitaiives from South Carolina, at the time the Nullification fever was raging at the 
South. The author was then Assistant Clerk of the House. 



Men of the ever-verdant South, where winter never comes 
To chill the current of your souls — your bright and sunny homes 
Fit dwellings are for chivalry — for high and virtuous mind, 
And honor, love, and glory are within your hearts enshrined. 

Then envy not our yankee land of pumpkin pies and trade^ 
The little notionalities in which our '■^specs'' are made ; 
We '11 make your cotton into cloth, e'en to the latest crop, 
And if we 've any thing you want, why, wont we always swop? 

Then let us live like brethren still within this happy land, 
And, like our fathers, let us be one firm united band ; 
Oh never be our stripes and stars from out our banner torn, 
Nor may those who succeed us here a severed Union mourn ! 



THE IDEAL OF A TRUE LIFE. 

BY HORACE GREELEY. 

There is, even on this side the grave, a haven where the 
storms of life break not, or are felt but in gentle undula- 
tions of the unrippled and mirroring waters, — an oasis, not 
in the desert, but beyond it, — a rest, profound and blissful 
as that of the soldier returned for ever from the dangers, 
the hardships and turmoil of war, to the bosom of that 
dear domestic circle, whose blessings he never prized at half 
their worth till he lost them. 

This haven, this oasis, this rest, is a serene and hale old 
age. The tired traveller has abandoned the dusty, crowded 
and jostling highway of life, for one of its shadiest and least 
noted by-lanes. The din of traffic and of worldly strife has 
no longer magic for his ear, — the myriad footfall on the 
city's stony walks is but noise or nothing to him now. He 
has run his race of toil, or trade, or ambition. His day's 
work is accomplished, and he has come home to enjoy, 
tranquil and unharassed, the splendor of the sunset, the 
milder glories of late evening. Ask not whether he has or 
has not been successful, according to the vulgar standard of 
success. What matters it now whether the multitude has 
dracrored his chariot, rendincr the air with idolizinor acclama- 
tions, or howled like wolves on his track, as he fled by 
night, from the fury of those he had wasted his vigor to 
serve 1 What avails it that broad lands have rewarded his 
toil, or that all has, at the last moment, been stricken from 
his grasp 1 Ask not whether he brings into retirement the 
wealth of the Indies or the poverty of a bankrupt, — 
whether his couch be of down or rushes, — his dwelling a 



THE IDEAL OF A TRUE LIFE. 277 

hut or a mansion. He has lived to little purpose indeed, if 
he has not long since realized that wealth and renown are 
not the true ends of exertion, nor their absence the con- 
clusive proof of ill-fortune. Whoever seeks to know if his 
career has been prosperous and brightening from its outset 
to its close, — if the evening of his days shall be genial and 
blissful, — should ask not for broad acres, or towering edi- 
fices, or laden coffers. Perverted Old Age may grasp these 
with the unyielding clutch of insanity ; but they add to his 
cares and anxieties, not to his enjoyments. Ask rather, 
Has he mastered and harmonized his erring passions ? 
Has he lived a True Life ? 

A True Life ! — of how many lives does each hour knell 
the conclusion ! and how few of them are true ones ! The 
poor child of shame, and sin, and crime, who terminates 
her earthly being in the clouded morning of her scarce 
budded yet blighted existence, — the desperate felon whose 
blood is shed by the community, as the dread penalty of its 
violated law, — the miserable debauchee, who totters down 
to his loathsome grave in the spring-time of his years, but 
the fulness of his festering iniquities, — these, the world 
valiantly affirms, have not lived true lives ! Fearless and 
righteous world ! how profound, how discriminating are thy 
judgments ! But the base idolater of self, who devotes all 
his moments, his energies, his thoughts, to schemes which 
begin and end in personal advantage, — the grasper of gold, 
and lands, and tenements, — the devotee of pleasure, — the 
man of ignoble and sinister ambition, — the woman of friv- 
olity, extravagance and fashion, — the idler, the gambler, 
the voluptuary, — on all these and their myriad compeers, 
while borne on the crest of the advancing billow, how 
gentle is the reproof, how charitable the judgment of the 
world! Nay, — is not even our dead Christianity, which 
picks its way so daintily, cautiously, and inoffensively 
through the midst of slave-holding and drunkard-making, 
and national faith-breaking, — which regards with gentle 
rebuke, and is regarded with amiable toleration by some of 
24 



278 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

the foremost vices of the times, — is it not too often obliv- 
ious of its paramount duty to teach men how to live wor- 
thily and nobly? Are there not thousands to whom its 
inculcations, so far as duties to man are concerned, are 
substantially negative in their character 1 — who are fortified 
by its teachings, in the belief that to do good is a casualty 
and not a frame of being, — who are taught by it to feed 
the hungry, and clothe the naked, when they thrust them- 
selves upon the charity of portly affluence, but as an irk- 
some duty, for which they should be rewarded, rather than 
a blessed privilege for which they should be profoundly 
grateful ? Of the millions now weekly listening to the 
ministrations of the christian pulpit, how many are clearly, 
vividly impressed with the great truth, that each, in his own 
sphere, should live for mankind, as Christ did, for the 
redemption, instruction, and exaltation of the race, — and, 
that the power to do this in his proper sphere, abides equally 
with the humblest as the highest 1 How many centuries 
more will be required to teach, even the religious world, so 
called, the full meaning of the term christian ? 

A true life must be simple in all its elements. Animated 
by one grand and ennobling impulse, all lesser aspirations 
find their proper places in harmonious subservience. Sim- 
plicity in taste, in appetite, in habits of life, with a corres- 
ponding indifference to worldly honors and aggrandizement, 
is the natural result of the predominance of a divine and 
unselfish idea. Under the guidance of such a sentiment, 
virtue is not an effort, but a law of nature, like gravitation. 
It is vice alone that seems unaccountable, — monstrous, — 
well-nigh miraculous. Purity is felt to be as necessary to 
the mind as health to the body, and its absence alike, the 
inevitable source of pain. 

A true life must be calm. A life imperfectly directed, is 
made wretched through distraction. We give up our youth 
to excitement, and wonder that a decrepit old age steals 
upon us so soon. We wear out our energies in strife for 
gold or fame, and then wonder alike at the cost and the 



THE IDEAL OF A TRUE LIFE. 279 

worthlessness of the meed. " Is not the life more than 
meat ? " Ay, truly ! but how few have practically, con- 
sistently, so regarded it ? And little as it is regarded by 
the imperfectly virtuous, how much less by the vicious and 
the worldling ! What a chaos of struggling emotions is 
exhibited by the lives of the multitude ? How like to the 
wars of the infuriated animalculae in a magnified drop of 
water, is the strife constantly waged in each little mind ! 
How Sloth is jostled by Gluttony, and Pride wrestled with 
by Avarice, and Ostentation bearded by Meanness ! The 
soul which is not large enough for the indwelling of one 
virtue, affords lodgment, and scope, and arena for a hundred 
vices. But their warfare cannot be indulged with impunity. 
Agitation and wretchedness are the inevitable consequences, 
in the midst of which, the flame of life burns flaringly and 
swiftly to its close. 

A true life must be genial and joyous. Tell me not, 
pale anchorite, of your ceaseless vigils, your fastings, your 
scourgings. These are fit offerings to Moloch, not to Our 
Father. The man who is not happy in the path he has 
chosen, may be very sure he has chosen amiss, or is self- 
deceived. But not merely happier, — he should be kinder, 
gentler, and more elastic in spirits, as well as firmer and 
truer. " I love God and little children," says a German 
poet. The good are ever attracted and made happier by 
the presence of the innocent and lovely. And he who finds 
his religion averse to, or a restraint upon the truly innocent 
pleasures and gayeties of life, so that the latter do not 
interfere with and jar upon its sublimer objects, — may well 
doubt whether he has indeed " learned of Jesus." 



LINES FOR MY COUSIN'S ALBUM. 



BY HORATIO HALE 



Nay, ask me not how long it be 

Since love's sweet witchery on me stole : 
In truth it always seemed to me 

A portion of my very soul ; 
I know the springs where love was nursed, 
But ask not when it blossomed first. 

'T was not beneath the cloudless skies 
Of youth's sweet summer ; long before, 

The sunshine of those gentle eyes 
Had waked the tender flower, 

And from its breathing censer-cup 

Had drawn its purest incense up. 

'T was not in childhood's merry May, 

When dews were fresh and skies were fair, 

And life was one long sunny day, 
Undimmed by thought or care ; 

Oh no ! the stream whence love is fed 

Is deepest at the fountain-head. 

And feeling's purest, holiest flowers 
Are brightest in life's earliest dawn. 

But fade when comes the sultry hours 
Of noon-tide splendor on. 

The heart's fine music sweetest rings. 

Ere manhood's tears have dulled the strings. 

I think my being and my love, 

Like oak and vine together sprung, 

And bough and tendril interwove. 
And round my heart-strings clung; 

Oh! never, till life's latest sigh. 

Shall aught unclasp the gentle tie. 



APHORISMS. 



BY JOSEPH BARTLETT 



HAPPINESS. 



All men are equally happy. We judge from appear- 
ances, but could we examine each other's relative situation, 
and look into each other's heart, not one in a million would 
be willing to exchange with his neighbor. We know our 
own miseries, but are unacquainted with the distresses of 
others. 

Happiness is an ignis fatuus, pursued by all, never over- 
taken by any one; when it appears within our reach, a 
moment's reflection finds it at a great distance. 

" He who breathes, must suffer, 
And he who thinks, must mourn." 

The first pursuit of man is happiness. Each takes a 
different road. All at last meet at the goal of disappoint- 
ment. 

II. VANITY. 

Men usually wish to be considered to excel in those 
qualities which they do not possess. The celebrated Dr. 
Johnson, so clumsy in his deportment and awkward in his 
behavior, in early life was more solicitous to be considered 
as a graceful dancer, and possessing easy manners, than as 
a man of science. 

Men will sooner give large sums to erect a monument 
and endow hospitals, to emblazon their names, than spare a 
cent to the miserable mendicant, asking alms at their door. 

24* 



282 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

A " cup of cold water in love," will be more favorably reg- 
istered by Deity, than millions expended under the influ- 
ence of vanity. 

The man, who boasts of his knowledge, is usually ig- 
norant, and wishes to blind the eyes of his hearer. 

III. FRIENDSHIP. 

Friendship is in every person's mouth, — but little un- 
derstood and less practiced. It does not consist in great 
dinners, or words, or unmeaning smiles. Show me the 
man, who will break his last loaf with me, and I will call 
that man my friend. 

Obligations can never exist between friends. 

Confidence is the cement of friendship. 

IV. WOMAN. 

Women generally possess less charity than men, towards 
the foibles of their own sex. 

The man, who wishes for popularity, must please the 
women. They are either ardent friends or implacable 
enemies. 

A WOMAN destitute of morals, will be more atrocious in 
her vices than a man : Devils were made from Angels. 

V. RICHES. 

A rich man, who considers himself as the almoner of 
Heaven, is a bank of benevolence, in which every distressed 
son and daughter of Adam is a stockholder, and they are 
certain that their drafts will receive due honor. 

A RICH poor man is the most indigent of all men. He 
feasts on gold, and starves in the midst of plenty. 



I 



APHORISMS. 



283 



Riches, when improperly acquired, or too grudgingly 
distributed, will carry a worm of poverty at the root, which 
will be severely realized by the father or his children. 



VI. SLANDER. 



Whenever you find a man endeavoring to destroy or 
lessen the reputation of another, be certain his own charac- 
ter is desperate. 



THE FIRST FLOWER. 



BY MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS 



Ere melts the dews in liquid showers, 
Or trees their vernal robes renew, 

The first-born of the race of flowers 
Spreads to the sky its answering blue. 

Born of the sun's first genial kiss, 

That woos to love the chaste, cold earth ; 

Sweet bud of hope ! a nameless bliss 
Thrills the warm heart to hail thy birth, 

I find thee in the leafless wild. 

Beside the snow-wreath blossoming, 

As Winter, in his dotage mild, 

Would ape the brighter robe of Spring. 

Or the soft south, in wayward mood, 
While loitering by the rocky cleft, 

Amid its dreary solitude 

This frail and sweet memorial left. 

No warbler of the glades is near, 
No scented shrub or floweret fair; 

But glittering flake and ice-pearl clear, 
Thy chill and mute companions are. 

But the same power ordained thy birth, 
And tinged thy soft, cerulean eye. 

That poised in space this mighty earth, 
And hung its quenchless lamps on high 

And in each cup, each tinted grace. 

Each leaf thy mossy stem uprears. 
The moulding of that hand I trace. 
That fashioned in their pride the spheres. 

Yet art thou frail ! thy transient hour 
Of bloom and beauty will be o'er, 

Ere spring shall dress the green- wood bower, 
And spread her bright voluptuous store. 

Even now thy hues are in their wane. 
Thou first-born of the race of flowers ! 

Go ! thou shalt bloom on earth again. 
Unlike the loved and lost of ours. 



THOMAS ADDIS EMMET. 



BY CHARLES GLIDDEN HAINES. 

[Born at Canterbury, 1793. Died at New York, July 3, 1825.] 



Soon after Emmet commenced his practice in Dublin, he 
rose to distinction at the Irish Bar. He rode the Circuit, 
and commanded a full share of business and confidence. 
He was the circuit and term companion of Curran, and 
even in Ireland, if I may credit the information of several 
Irish gentlemen, was his superior in talents, legal attain- 
ments, and general information. But while fame and wealth 
were attending his ardent efforts at the bar, and the proud- 
est seats of office and honor seemed not too high for his 
capacity and his aspirations, the gloom that overclouded his 
country — her long past sufferings — the dark and cheerless 
prospect that opened upon her destinies, engrossed the con- 
stant thoughts of all her patriots, and commanded the 
intense contemplation of every intelligent friend of his 
native soil. The French Revolution had burst forth on 
Europe like a volcano. It rent asunder the political rela- 
tions which had endured for ages, tore up ancient institu- 
tions by the roots, and overturned the most arbitrary throne 
on the Continent, if we except that of the Emperor of all 
the Russias. It was hailed in Ireland as the day-spring of 
hope and freedom, and diffused over that green and beauti- 
ful island, a silent but enthusiastic expectation of deliver- 
ance. Ireland was well prepared for a complete political 
change, and an introduction of a new government. Her 
condition, in this respect, presented a most auspicious and 
cheering state of things. Protestants and Catholics, all 



286 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

religious sects, forgot their prejudices, and nobly rallied 
under one common standard — the standard of the nation. 
All their feelings, all their wishes, all their hopes, were for 
Ireland. Her freedom, her honor, her glory, and her pros- 
perity, claimed all their thoughts and all their devotions. 
Gold was nothing — titles were nothing: — Ireland, Re- 
publican Ireland was every thing. 

Considering all things, can we wonder at the feelings, 
the calm ardor and determined firmness of the Irish nation ? 
The melancholy fortunes of their country continually passed 
before their eyes in gloomy retrospect. For seven hundred 
years their beautiful isle had been the victim of ruffian 
violence and ceaseless oppression. Age after age rolled on, 
and darkness and bondage covered her face. Other nations 
had shaken oflT their chains and marched forward to inde- 
pendence, to wealth, and to happiness. Great and general 
revolutions had shaken the world. The Reformation, which 
swept away " the vast structure of superstition and tyranny," 
elsewhere, brought home no regenerating principles to Ire- 
land. America, unknown when Ireland was first a colony, 
had nobly erected her standard and fought her way to free- 
dom. England had undergone more than one revolution, 
and materially changed the constitution of her government. 
France had now roused from her long slumbers, and pro- 
claimed freedom among the nations of the Continent, and 
extended the hand of friendship and the proffer of deliver- 
ance to the people of Ireland. 

Is it to be wondered at, then, that an enthusiastic desire 
to assume a station in the society of nations should have 
animated her daring and gallant sons? They cast their 
eyes over their country, containing more than five millions 
of population, blessed with a genial climate and a fruitful 
soil — with noble harbors, spacious rivers, rich mines, a 
capacity for manufactures, and an extensive commerce with 
all the world. They called to mind her poverty, her igno- 
rance, her misery : more than forty millions of dollars wrung 
annually from her resources by a foreign government : a 



THOMAS ADDIS EMMET. 287 

church forced upon nine tenths of the people, who resisted 
and were still constrained to pay tithes to support that 
church : out of three hundred members of the Irish House 
of Commons, to represent the whole people of Ireland, two 
hundred elected by thirty or forty individuals : popery laws, 
that precluded the youth of nine tenths of the population 
from early education and the halls of the universities, and 
the parents of those children from the bar, the bench, the 
legislature, the magistracy — from every seat of power, 
honor and responsibility. These things they called to re- 
collection, and they were not all. The genius, the valor, 
and the fame of the great men of Ireland appealed to the 
pride of the Irish people. They knew what Ireland had 
been, they knew what she was, and they looked forward to 
what she might be — elevated to her proper rank in the 
scale of empires ; a broad representative system of govern- 
ment in full operation ; great men watching over her inter- 
ests at home and in foreign courts ; the legislature open to 
talents and to a noble ambition ; the bar presenting a splen- 
did theatre of competition, and embracing the sons of the 
Catholic and the Protestant ; her navy and her armies made 
glorious by Irish valor exerted in the cause of Ireland ; her 
intellectual greatness unfolded by the triumphant cultivation 
of the arts and sciences ; her physical powers and her nat- 
ural advantages fostered by enterprise and industry ; her 
wilds, her morasses, and her mountains made glad by civili- 
zation ; and peace, security and comfort every where 
diffused. Was it not natural, when they looked at all this, 
that their souls should have panted for war against their 
oppressors 1 

Such were the views of Thomas Addis Emmet. He 
began in the cause of Ireland as a patriot, he acted in her 
cause as a patriot, and he suffered as such. Had he chosen 
to pursue the road to power, to wealth, and to ambition, he 
would have joined that abandoned phalanx, composed of 
such men as Lord Castlereagh, Lord Clare, the Beresfords, 
and their associates in apostacy and guilt, and sought ele- 



288 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

vation by augmenting the misery and sufferings of his 
country, to secure the smiles of the British Court. He 
was not one of them. He thought, and with reason, that 
the day had come when his country could be taken into the 
family of nations, and run her career with rejoicing. He 
hailed the temper and spirit of the age, and rejoiced in the 
tone which was communicated to public opinion by the 
French Revolution. 

French connexion proved fatal to the revolution of Ire- 
land. French fidelity and the adoption of sound policy 
would have made Ireland free. But Ireland was left tu her 
fate, and such men as Mr. Emmet and his compatriots to 
mourn over her calamities. After a short struggle in the 
field, and after a few scattering and ineffectual insurrections, 
in which perished some of the noblest spirits that Ireland 
ever saw, the patriots w^ere vanquished, and the soul of the 
nation sunk within her. There was the end of Ireland's 
hopes, at least for generations. France, under the guidance 
of Napoleon, sought the conquest of Europe, and England 
was left to crush to powder her sister isle. 

Among the illustrious victims of vengeance, the name of 
Thomas Addis Emmet maintains an exalted place. With- 
out any specific allegation, or any overt act of treason, he 
was cast into prison, and never again permitted to enjoy his 
personal liberty in his native land. After being detained a 
prisoner in Dublin about a year, without notice an order 
came that he must leave Ireland the next morning at four 
o'clock ! At the appointed hour he beheld Ireland for the 
last time. He was landed in Scotland; was there impris- 
oned for three years; was liberated and went to France, 
and in 1804 became a resident of our country, the only 
secure place of refuge from oppression. Here he com- 
menced that splendid career at the American Bar, which 
has not only elevated the character of the profession, but 
reflected back a lustre on his native land. 



THE NOVICE, 



BY SAMUEL T. HILDRETH. 

[Born at Exeter, November 17, 1817. Died at Cambridge, Massachusetts, February 11, 1839.] 



Look ! what a seraph-glance is hers, 

Whose full blue eyes thrown up to heaven ! 

That breast no low-born passion stirs, 
Afar each thought of earth is driven ; 

Maid of the bright, the angel brow, 

Where is thy fancy roving now ? — ' 

Among those peaks of softest hue. 

Where twilight's purple feet have strayed, 

O'er yonder sea of starless blue, 

Where all day long the clouds have played : 

Turning to earth a transient gaze. 

As on a thing of by-gone days ? 

Or, from their moon-beam revels led, 
Charmed by that gentle face of thine, 

Perchance fair spirits round thy head 

With plumes of dazzhng whiteness shine, 

And linger there, to smile and bless, 

Lost ill a dream of loveliness ! 

On yonder summits gathering fast, 
Hope may unfold her laughing band; 

Or some glad image of the past, 

Wave from the cloud a shadowy hand; 

And bid thee twine again the bowers 

Affection wove in earlier hours. 

She heeds thee not ! The choral song. 
That dies unnoticed on thine ears. 

The voices of the sainted throng. 

Who chant the hymns of other spheres. 

Have lured her raptured soul on high, 

Amid that bright-eyed company. 

Tread softly on, and dare not break 
The holy spell which binds her there; 

For who, sweet maiden, who could wake 
Thy spirit from its trance of prayer, 

Or bid thy soul from realms of light, 

To these dark scenes wing back its flight? 

25 



THE NATIONAL DEFENCES. 

EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH DELIVERED IN THE UNITED STATES SENATE. 
BY FRANKLIN PIERCE. 

In this age of progress, in t]iis land of invention and 
almost boundless resources, we are not the people to stand 
still. We have not stood still. But while individual en- 
terprise has kept pace, in all the various pursuits of life, 
with the best improvements of the day, it must be admitted, 
considering our position upon the globe — the immense 
extent of our maritime frontier — the mode in which we 
must be assailed, if ever successfully, by a foreign foe — 
the easy access to our most commanding harbors — the 
vast importance and exposed condition of our great com- 
mercial cities, especially since the successful application of 
steam power to ocean navigation — that we have been 
singularly regardless of ihe improvements which in other 
countries, especially in France and England, have been and 
are rapidly changing the character of military operations, 
offensive and defensive, both on the land and on the sea. 

There are some things about the military defences of this 
country which may be considered as settled, I regard it 
as certain that no large standing army is ever to be main- 
tained here, in time of peace, while our free institutions 
remain unshaken. In this we differ entirely from those 
nations with whom, from our position and political rela- 
tions, we are in the greatest danger of a collision. It is 
equally certain, in my judgment, that stationary fortifica- 
tions, in the best condition, with abundance of materiel, 
and well manned, will prove entirely inadequate to the 



THE NATIONAL DEFENCES. 291 

defence of even our large commercial cities. It must be 
regarded as not less clear, that no foreign power can ever 
embark in the Quixotic enterprise of conquering this coun- 
try, unless its Constitution shall first be trampled in the 
dust by its children. Such a project can never be soberly 
contemplated, while we are a united people. During our 
Revolution — in the weakness of our infancy — the invaders 
could scarcely command more ground than they were able 
immediately to occupy. 

The leading purposes of an enemy will be, by the celer- 
ity and boldness of his movements on our coast, to keep up 
a constant alarm ; to harass and cut off our commerce ; to 
destroy our naval depots and public works; and, if possible, 
to lay our great commercial cities under contribution or in 
ashes. It is against prompt movements and vigorous exer- 
tions for objects like these, that we should prepare and pro- 
vide. France and England have, and always must maintain 
large and well-appointed standing armies ; they are the 
indispensable appendages of royal power and dominion, 
without which no monarch in Europe can retain his crown 
a single year. They have not only armies, but they have 
now the means of planting them upon our shores; — nay, 
of quartering them in the heart of our cities, before we can 
set in order our insufficient and now deserted fortresses, or 
call into the field any effective force, organized as our 
militia at present is. Indeed, in some of the States there 
is no organization whatever; it is wholly disbanded, and 
men whose thoughts were never elevated above the contem- 
plation of loss and gain, are out in the newspapers, with 
their calculations to show exactly how many dollars and 
cents may be saved annually by the " disbandment" of this 
safe and sure auxiliary in our national defence. 

I cannot help feeling strongly upon this subject, because 
I have witnessed the deep lethargy in which the spirit of 
the nation, easily roused to every thing else, has seemed to 
slumber here. Within the last few years war-clouds have 
lowered most portentously upon our horizon, and on one or 
two occasions seemed ready to burst, and scatter far and 



292 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

wide the calamities of that dreadful scourge. What was 
the effect upon the Government and the country, when, upon 
the question of money, we were upon the eve of a war with 
one of the most powerful and gallant nations of the earth? 
Did we manifest a willingness to apply our money in pre- 
paration for the contest? No. There was as usual no 
want of patriotic demonstration in the way of speeches, but 
they were followed by nothing like decisive action. 
Through the country there appeared to be a profound re- 
pose, and blind trusting to luck in the face of admitted 
imminent danger. In the beneficent ordination of Provi- 
dence, and through the energy and wisdom of that extra- 
ordinary man, who always proved equal to great occasions, 
the impending danger was happily averted. 

How was it more recently, when, for a long time, there 
had been a quasi war along our whole border from St. Johns 
to the Lakes? In what condition did the evening of the 
2d of March, 1839, find the country ? In what state did it 
find us in our places here ? Like the nation generally — 
calm and undisturbed. Senators then present will not soon 
forget the scene that followed the arrival of the eastern 
mail that night. The stirring report soon passed around 
the chamber, — " There has been a battle upon our eastern 
frontier ; the blood of our citizens has been shed upon our 
own soil ! " A change came over the spirit of our dream. 
Every countenance was lighted up with high excitement. 
We were at last, when the strange spell of fancied security 
could no longer bind us, roused as from the delusion of a 
charm — we awoke as from the trance of years — as from 
a dream we opened our eyes upon a full view of the near- 
ness and macrnitude of our dang-er. I shall never forget the 
bearinor on that occasion, nor the burninor words of an hon- 
orable Senator on the other side of the Chamber, not now 
in his place. He seemed to feel, that by our culpable neg- 
lect to provide the means of defence, we had invited ag- 
gression, and that we ought ourselves to take our places in 
the fiercest of the eddying storm which, it was then sup- 
posed, had already burst upon our border brethren. What 



THE NATIONAL DEFENCES. 293 

was done? All that could be done under the circum- 
stances. The constitutional term of one branch of Con- 
gress had but a few more hours to run. There was little 
time for deliberation : but we showed that there was one 
contingency in which we could merge every thing like 
party, and present an unbroken front. We passed a bill, 
placing at the disposal of the President the whole militia of 
the United States, to be compelled to serve for a term not 
exceeding six months — to raise fifty thousand volunteers — 
to equip, man, and employ in active service all the naval 
force of the United States — and to build, purchase, or 
charter, arm, equip and man such vessels and steamboats 
on the northern lakes and rivers, whose waters communi- 
cated with the United States and Great Britain, as he should 
deem necessary. This fearful responsibility was cast upon 
one individual. This vast command, with ten njillions of 
dollars to make it effectual, was committed to the sole dis- 
cretion and patriotism of the President. No man who loves 
his country can but deprecate the necessity of placing such 
tremendous and fearful powers in the hands of one man, 
however wise and disinterested. 

I warn the people against another such crisis. Sooner 
or later it will come, and perhaps unattended by that good 
fortune which has thus far borne us on in peace. At all 
events, it is the most fatal temerity to depend upon it, and 
neglect the necessary preparations. We should provide our 
harbors, in addition to the stationary fortifications, with the 
best floating defences known to the world. We should 
make our navy equal at least to one sixth of that of Great 
Britain. We should provide for an organization of the 
militia to be efficient and uniform throughout the Union. 
Thus prepared, with our large cities in a suitable state of 
defence, and with six hundred thousand disciplined citizen 
soldiers, so enrolled and organized, as to admit of being 
promptly mustered and called into the field, we shall be 
ready for the conflict which, under such circumstances, will 
hardly be pressed upon us. 



THE TREASURES OF THE SEA. 



BY MRS. CAROLINE ORNE 



Far down in the deep where storms have no power, 
And all is as calm as a soft twilight hour, 
The light, it is said, in rich brilliancy falls 
O'er the jewel-paved floors of coralline halls. 
And the small, snowy feet of the sea-nymphs glance 
Like the wings of white birds in the festal dance. 
And their long, silky hair, sprinkled over with pearls, 
Sweeps low, in a maze of bright golden curls. 

But it is not the sea-nymphs, the gold that is there, 
Nor the glistening gems so pure and so rare ; 
It is not the song from the Nereid's shell. 
That floats o'er the waves with a liquid swell. 
And dies on the shore with a murmuring close, 
Like the breeze that expires on the breast of the rose ; 
Oh no, these are not the things the most dear 
To the yearning heart and the listening ear. 

One lock of the rich and the glossy hair 

On the sailor-boy's brow, who now sleeps there. 

With a smile on his lips as if dreaming of home, 

Whence in evil hour he was tempted to roam. 

Would give to the lone, widowed mother's heart 

A holier joy than gold can impart. 

Who fain by his side, in the caves of the deep, 

The rest of the long, last Sabbath would keep. 

The pale withered rose, to the cold bosom prest, 
Of her who lies there in her last, dreamless rest; 
The rose fondly cherished for his sake who gave. 
Even when she sunk low in the tempest-tost wave. 
To thy riven heart, lonely mourner, would be, 
Far dearer than all the bright gems of the sea, 
Strown round on the sand which her pale brow presses. 
And gleaming like stars through her long raven tresses. 

And those low, dreamy sounds o'er the waters that flit, 

When the sky with its burning stars is lit. 

That just meet the ear, and then die away. 

Like the soft echoed notes of some far-away lay ; 



THE TREASURES OF THE SEA. 295 



Oh, these to their hearts, in the calm evening hour, 
Come gifted with solemn, and deep thrilling power, 
Even as a blest requiem, sung at the head 
Of the young, the beloved, the beautiful dead. 

Thou grave of their fears, their hopes, and their loves ! 
When the form of the tempest in wrath o'er thee moves, 
When the spirit of peace, like the dove's brooding vvmg, 
To thy bosom repose and soft sunshine doth bring ; 
Or when the bright stars look down from above. 
On thy slumbers at midnight with eyes full of love, 
Unto them thou still ever most holy will be. 
Thou stormy, devouring, calm, beautiful sea I 



THE GOOD AVIFE. 



BY REV, GEORGE W. BURNAP. 

The parental home is intended to be the school of woman's 
education, not her permanent abode. As the instinct, which 
teaches the birds of passage the time of their emigration, 
suddenly impels them to mount to untried regions of the at- 
mosphere, and seek through cloud and tempest a land they 
have never seen, so a like inspiration teaches woman that 
there is another home for her, destined by the Great De- 
signer, of still greater happiness than that which she has 
already known, and under the same apparent destiny. One 
appears to lead her to that happy place. Marriage comes 
as the great crisis of woman's existence. And where, if you 
search earth through, will you find an object which the eye 
bends on with such intense, I had almost said, painful in- 
terest, as a bride ? What an era, when considered with 
reference either to the past or the future ! It is in a man- 
ner the crush of one world, and the beginning of a new one. 
She is to ofo from a home that she has known and loved, 
where she has been loved and cherished, to one to which 
she is an utter stranger. Her happiness is to be subjected 
to those on whose characters, tempers, principles, she can 
make no calculation. And what is to assure her of the 
faith of him who has sworn at the altar to cherish and pro- 
tect her 1 She may, in the blindness of affection, have 
given her heart to one who will wring and break it, and she 
may be going to martyrdom, where pride and prudence will 
alike deny her the poor solace of complaint. Yet she is 
willing to venture all. The law instituted by the Creator 
is upon her, and urges her forward. With calm confidence 



the; good wife, 297 

she puts herself under the protection of that Almighty Prin- 
ciple, which issuing from the throne of God penetrates and 
pervades all things, and then returns to link itself to the 
throne of his Omnipotence, the Principle of Love, and she 
is safe. Perhaps if she knew what life has in store for her, 
she would for a moment shrink back. The marriage festiv- 
ity would not be without its fears. And for myself, so many 
whom I have united for life have I seen soon overtaken by 
calamity, hoping parents bending in speechless agony over 
the loved and the lost, or watching with breathless appre- 
hension the fearful changes of extreme disease, that to me 
there is ever an undertone of sadness in the wedding's mirth ; 
and when that bright being approaches, upon whom every 
eye centres, and for whom every heart palpitates, I can 
almost fancy her bridal attire transformed to mourning, and 
her blushes changed to tears. But a second thought con- 
vinces me that such anticipations are treason to God and 
man. Marriage is the ordinance of God, and let not man 
gainsay it. It is indeed the commencement of struggles 
and toils. But for what else is man made, or woman either? 
Those toils and struggles shall be lighter when mutual affec- 
tion animates the effort. Troubles will come, but they come 
to all ; and who shall better sustain them than those to whom 
mutual affection gives mutual support ? 

We now see woman in that sphere for which she was 
originally intended, and which she is so exactly fitted to 
adorn and bless, as the wife, the mistress of a home, the 
solace, the aid, and the counsellor of that One, for whose 
sake alone the world is of any consequence to her. If life 
be increased in cares, so is it also enriched by new satisfac- 
tions. She herself, if she be inspired by just sentiments 
and true affection, perceives that she has attained her true 
position. Delivered from that tastelessness, which sooner 
or later creeps over a single life, every power and faculty is 
called into energetic exercise, and she feels the current of 
existence to flow in a richer, deeper stream. We are all 
made for action and enterprise. Existence, though surfeited 



298 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

with luxury and abundance, is insipid without it. The af- 
fections which God has ordained to spring in the bosoms of 
those whom he has destined to pass through life together, 
are no deceivers. They are not intended to betray the sexes 
into a state of misery. The wife does not bid adieu to hap- 
piness, though she leaves a magnificent mansion to take up 
her abode under an humbler roof Youth, health, employ- 
ment, affection, hope, are more than a compensation for all. 
The privations of commencing life in narrow circumstances 
are borne with cheerfulness and alacrity. If there be on 
both sides good sense and generous feeling, as well as true 
affection, nothing will seem hard, and they will experience 
a happiness unknown to those who shut up or disappoint 
their affections from false pride, or from dread of losing 
caste, by beginning life precisely as their fathers and mothers 
did before them. 

The good wife ! How much of this world's happiness 
and prosperity is contained in the compass of these two 
short words ! Her influence is immense. The power of a 
wife, for ffood or for evil, is altocrether irresistible. Home 
must be the seat of happiness, or it must be for ever un- 
known. A good wife is to a man wisdom and courage and 
strength and hope and endurance. A bad one is confusion, 
weakness, discomfiture, despair. No condition is hopeless 
when the wife possesses firmness, decision, energy, economy. 
There is no outward prosperity which can counteract indo- 
lence, folly and extravagance at home. No spirit can long 
resist bad domestic influences. Man is strong, but his heart 
is not adamant. He delights in enterprise and action, but 
to sustain him he needs a tranquil mind and a whole heart. 
He expends his whole moral force in the conflicts of the 
world. His feelings are daily lacerated to the utmost point 
of endurance by perpetual collision, irritation and disap- 
pointment. To recover his equanimity and composure, 
home must be to him a place of repose, of peace, of cheerful- 
ness, of comfort ; and his soul renews its strength, and again 
goes forth with fresh vigor to encounter the labors and 



THE GOOD WIFE. 299 

troubles of the world. But if at home he find no rest, and 
there is met by a bad temper, sullenness, or gloom ; or is 
assailed by discontent, complaint and reproaches, the heart 
breaks, the spirits are crushed, hope vanishes, and the man 
sinks into total despair. 

Let woman know then, that she ministers at the very 
fountain of life and happiness. It is her hand that lades out 
with overflowing cup its soul-refreshing waters, or casts in 
the branch of bitterness which makes them poison and death. 
Her ardent spirit breathes the breath of life into all enter- 
prise. Her patience and constancy are mainly instrumental 
in carrying forward to completion the best human designs. 
Her more delicate moral sensibility is the unseen power 
which is ever at work to purify and refine society. And 
the nearest glimpse of heaven that mortals ever get on earth 
is that domestic circle, which her hands have trained to in- 
telligence, virtue and love, which her gentle influence per- 
vades, and of which her radiant presence is the centre and 
the sun. 



TO MY BIBLE. 



BY REV. JOHN G. ADAMS. 



Gift of a father's holy love ! thy face, how dear to me, 
When from the folly of this world my longing soul would flee, 
To spend the sacred moments at that feast of wisdom spread 
In thee, by God's own gracious hand, life-giving, heavenly bread ! 

Food of my soul ! by thee sustained, I cannot faint nor tire ; 
Salvation's water ! as I drink, the well is rising higher; 
The naked's clothing ! thou dost guard in sunshine and in storm; 
Armor complete ! in thee my strength can mightiest deeds perform. 

Sword of the Spirit ! when the Foe appears in dark array. 
And by feigned words would captive lead my soul in chains away, 
In wielding thee, how quickly fly his forces from the field ! 
For who, thus armed, was ever known in error's grasp to yield ? 

Book of all books ! O may I find thy presence ever dear; 
And, when I turn aside, be thy reproving wisdom near: 
As when the sands of life run low thy counsel J shall need. 
So, while that life is spared, do thou the hungry spirit feed. 

Lan)p of salvation! light my way to Zion's holy hill. 

Where I can bid my passion, sin, and unbelief, "be still I " 

And learn of Christ, and find his truths most precious to the soul. 

The sovereign balm, that makes the sick and wounded spirit whole. 

Blest volume ! I can praise and love, with thee before my eyes. 
In hope that purer joy in heaven from this glad heart shall rise ; 
Where glorious themes on earth commenced, in truth and power with 

thee, 
Shall be prolonged, in highest bliss, throughout eternity ! 



FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. 

EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH IN AN ACTION FOR LIBEL. 

BY GEORGE SULLIVAN. 

[Born at Exeter, 1774. Died at Exeter June 14, 1839.J 

When a man is a candidate for a public office, depend- 
ing on the suffrages of the people, he inv ites an examination 
into his character and qualifications ; and agrees that, if he 
is deficient in either, it may be made known to the electors. 
If the defendants had good reason to believe the plaintiff 
had been guilty of violating the laws of his country, it was 
their duty to inform the public. The occasion not only jus- 
tified, but demanded it. 

It may be said, that when good men are candidates for 
public office, their characters may be greatly injured, if they 
can maintain no action for damacres, althouoh the defama- 
tory assertions published respecting them may be wholly un- 
founded. 

A little reflection will satisfy us, that the reputation of 
such men is protected with sufficient care, by the law which 
has been mentioned. When a man is a candidate for a 
public office, and defamatory words are published respect- 
ing him, the presumption is, that they were published with- 
out malice ; but still he is permitted to remove that pre- 
sumption by extrinsic evidence. There is no danger to be 
apprehended from the operation of this law. To obtain ex- 
trinsic evidence would not often be attended with difficulty. 
Indeed, if a man should publish of a candidate for office, 
unfounded calumnies, and should be prosecuted for a libel, 
if he could produce no evidence, or very slight evidence of 
the plaintiffs guilt, this circumstance alone would show his 
2G 



302 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

malicious intention, and that he used the occasion, on which 
the publication was made, to gratify his malice. But, on 
the other hand, if the defendant, when thus prosecuted, 
should produce such evidence as to show that he had good 
reason to believe the truth of what he published, it would 
repel the idea of malice, and show that the action could not 
be supported. And whether a defendant has good reason to 
believe the truth of what he published or not, must be de- 
cided by a jury. 

When the people of this State formed the constitution, 
they declared, that " the liberty of the press is essential to 
the security of freedom in a state." Every reflecting man 
must assent to the truth of this declaration. Let the free- 
dom of the press be destroyed in any country, and its inhab- 
itants will soon be involved in the profoundest ignorance; 
they will sink to the lowest, the most abject state of sla- 
very. To protect, therefore, with ceaseless vigilance, this 
guardian of our invaluable rights, is an object of the highest 
importance. The principle of law, for which I contend, 
preserves the liberty of the press, while it gives no counte- 
nance to its licentiousness. 

The government under which we live rests on the virtue 
and knowledge of the people. These are the main pillars 
that support our political fabric. If the great body of the 
people possessed such a degree of virtue as to lead them to 
sacrifice their private interest to promote the glory and hap- 
piness of their country ; this alone would be insufficient to 
give permanency to their government. They must possess 
knowledge as well as virtue. They must have sufficient 
knowledge to enable them to judge of the tendency of those 
measures that are adopted for the advancement of the pub- 
lic welfare. They must have a knowledge of the duties in- 
cident to those offices that are conferred by their suffrages, 
and of the character and qualifications of those who are 
proposed to fill them. When different individuals are can- 
didates for an office, the mass of the people are ignorant of 
their character and qualifications. They must, then, be in- 



FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. 303 

formed as to both. If they are not, instead of the wise and 
virtuous, they may elect the incompetent and unprincipled 
to manage their affairs. Thus the administration may be- 
come corrupt ; the interests of the people may be sacrificed 
to those of their rulers ; and the government itself may 
eventually be destroyed. How is the necessary information 
to be given but by means of the press ? It can be given in 
no other way. But who will undertake to inform the peo- 
ple, if he must suffer from the verdict of a jury unless he 
can demonstrate, by legal evidence and with perfect cer- 
tainty, the truth of all the information he shall communi- 
cate? Suppose a person should be candidate for the office 
of President of the United States; that letters should be dis- 
covered purporting to be signed by such person, in which 
it should appear that he and others had formed a plan to 
overturn the government. Suppose the letters and signa- 
tures should be written in a hand bearing a striking resem- 
blance to that of the candidate, and that there were other 
strong circumstances to prove him to be the writer. If a 
person should publish in a newspaper, that the individual, 
who was thus a candidate for the presidency, was an enemy 
to his country ; that he had formed a design to destroy the 
government ; and if it should turn out that the letters were 
forgeries, and the story unfounded ; should the person, 
who published the information from the best and most patri- 
otic motives, be made to suffer ? Should his patriotism sub- 
ject him to punishment? If so, the press will no longer 
diffuse information among the people ; and the voices of 
your wisest and most virtuous citizens will be silent. The 
liberty of the press would be as effectually destroyed as if 
there was a law prohibiting the publication of any informa- 
tion respecting candidates for office. 



THE INDEPENDENT FARMER. 



G. FESSENDEN. 



It may very truly be said 

That his is a noble vocation, 
Whose industry leads him to spread 

About him a little creation. 

He lives independent of all, 

Except the Omnipotent donor; 
Has always enough at his call, — 

And more is a plague to its owner. 

He works with his hands, it is true, 

But happiness dwells with employment, 

And he who has nothing to do 
Has nothing by way of enjoyment. 

His labors are mere exercise, 

Which saves him from pains and physicians 
Then, farmers, you truly may prize 

Your own as the best 'of conditions. 

From competence, shared with content, 

Since all true felicity springs, 
The life of a farmer is blent 

With more real bliss than a king's. 



SPRING IS COMINa. 



BY HUGH MOORE. 



Every breeze that passes o'er us, 
Every stream that leaps before us, 
Every tree in silvan brightness 
Bending to the soft winds' lightness ;. 
Every bird and insect humming 
Whispers sweetly, " Spring is coming ! " 

Rouse thee, boy ! the sun is beaming 

Brightly in thy chamber now ; 
Rouse thee, boy ! nor slumber, dreaming 

Of sweet maiden's eye and brow. 
See ! o'er Nature's wide dominions, 

Beauty revels as a bride ; 
All the plumage of her pinions 

In the rainbow's hues is dyed I 

Gentle maiden, vainly w^eeping 

O'er some loved and faithless one ; 
Rouse thee I give thy tears in keeping 

To the glorious morning sun ! 
Roam thou where the flowers are springing, 

Where the whirling stream goes by ; 
Where the birds are sweetly singing 

Underneath a blushing sky ! 

Rouse thee, hoary man of sorrow ! 

Let thy grief no more subdue ; 
God will cheer thee on the morrow, 

With a prospect ever new. 
Though you now weep tears of sadness, 

Like a withered flower bedewed ; 
Soon thy heart shall smile in gladness 

With the holy, just, and good! 

Frosty Winter, cold and dreary. 

Totters to the arms of Spring, 
Like the spirit, sad and weary, 

Taking an immortal wing. 
Cold the grave to every bosom. 

As the Winter's keenest breath ; 
Yet the buds of joy will blossom 

Even in the vale of Death ! 

26* 



INSANITY AND CRIME. 



BY ICHABOD BARTLETT. 

In every case, the charge of a crime of great enormity 
at once enlists the virtuous feelings of the community 
against the accused. Even the forms of law aid in coun- 
tenancing such prejudices. No harsher epithets are to be 
found in our language, than this indictment sanctions — 
and although we may say, that the accused is to be pre- 
sumed innocent until he is proved guilty, yet no individual 
ever stood at the criminal bar, when an influence the re- 
verse of this was not produced upon our minds, by that 
situation alone. Yes — every eye in this vast assembly has 
been fixed upon this lad, to see " the murderer." Every 
mind has already imagined, in his childlike, inoffensive 
appearance, the indelible marks of blood-stained guilt. He 
stands here to contend with the government. However 
exalted, however powerful an individual may be, such a 
contest places him at fearful odds. 

In no trial was there ever placed at the bar a more for- 
saken, friendless, helpless child of misfortune ; nor placed 
there under circumstances calculated to excite prejudices 
more fierce and unrelenting. 

Even if in other places and on other occasions, he might 
have had friends, such is human nature, his present situa- 
tion is not that in which kind offices are usually proffered. 
But destitute as he may be of relatives, who have either 
capacity or means to assist him — limited as may have been 
his opportunities, in his humble condition of life, of attach- 
ing to him acquaintances and friends — two friends he had 
secured by a course of unexceptionable, exemplary con- 
duct, not surpassed in any condition in life — a friendship 



INSANITY AND CRIME. 307 

partaking of parental kindness and affection ; one of whom 
now sleeps in the grave, sent there by the hand of him who 
was to her as a dutiful son — while the afflicted, bereaved 
husband stands here his prosecutor — stands here looking 
upon the accused, as if his hand had shed a parent's blood, 
and illustrating in his feelings the truth of the great phi- 
losophic poet, — 

" How sharper tlian an adder's tooth it is 
To have a thankless child." 

In most cases of homicide, some doubt may exist as to 
the identity of the offender — some uncertainty whether the 
wounds were the cause of death. Here no such doubts 
exist — no such uncertainty remains. The perpetrator 
stands unconcealed before you — the bloody garments in 
which the horrid act was accomplished have been exhibited 

— no apology, no excuse, no existing quarrel, no provoca- 
tion is pretended. It was not to be rid of an enemy — it 
was not a contest with an equal. The victim was an un- 
armed, unoffending female — a sincere friend, an affection- 
ate wife, a fond and devoted mother. The mangled corpse 
of the deceased — the afflictions of the bereaved husband 

— the tears of motherless children, have been made to call 
aloud for vengeance. The tragic story has been repeated 
at every fireside, and every repetition has added new hor- 
rors. It has brought an exasperated, an enraged populace 
even around the doors of the temple of justice, demanding 
the execution of the accused, and impatient even of the 
delay of the forms of a trial. 

If the nature of the charge, the character and manner of 
the offence, present difficulties to an impartial examination 
of the question of guilt or innocence, a difficulty not less 
formidable is to be encountered in the nature of the de- 
fence. It is Insanity. Insanity ! And what have we 
learned of insanity, but the incoherent ravings of the mad- 
man, the clanking of the chains of the maniac? Who 
will for a moment listen to the excuse of insanity for an act 
of such atrocity, from one whose whole life has been a reg- 



308 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

ular and quiet and intelligent discharge of the duties of his 
humble station ? Who has known of his being irrational ? 
Who has heard of a single act of derangement of his? 
Here we feel how little we know of the human mind — the 
force of the truth that we are " fearfully and wonderfully 
made." 

I am well aware of the power and eloquence with which 
the conviction of the prisoner will be urged on the part of 
the Government. You may be told,. that, if he escapes the 
sentence of the law for murder, the commission of the crime 
may be encouraged, and the blood of future victims will be 
required at your hands — that perhaps your own children, 
your own wives, may be sacrificed to your lenity. Gen- 
tlemen, let no such appeals stir you to injustice — to cruelty 
— to conviction, without proof and against proof. If you 
have relatives, friends, whom you would protect from the 
violence of the assassin, you too are friends, husbands, 
fathers to those, upon whom, in the Providence of God, the 
calamity which now afflicts this young man may fall. 
While every grade of inind, from the humblest reasoning 
faculty to the loftiest power of human intellect, has been 
subject to the paralyzing influence of this malady ; while 
its unseen and noiseless approach is unknown till marked 
by the ruins it has left, who can feel assurance, that within 
the hour he may not be its victim ? And while the thousand 
new forms and modes in which its effects are exhibited are 
now daily baffling " the wisdom of the wisest," who is there 
who may not fear, that to such a calamitous visitation of 
heaven, erring mortals may add the infamy of a public exe- 
cution upon the gallows. 

I here leave the prisoner and his fate with you. May 
you render a verdict upon which you may hereafter reflect 
with satisfaction — a verdict which shall not disturb, with 
misgivings and regrets, the remainder of life, — which shall 
not enhance that dread of death, or the awful solemnity of 
that scene where we must all soon appear before our final 
Judge. 



THE BACKWOODSMAN. 



BY EPHRAIISI PEA BODY 



The silent wilderness for me ! 

Where never sound is heard, 
Save the rustling of the squirrel's foot, 

And the flitting wing of bird. 
Or its low and interrupted note, 

And the deer's quick, crackling tread, 
And the swaying of the forest boughs, 

As the wind moves overhead. 

Alone, (how glorious to be free !) 

My good dog at my side. 
My rifle hanging in my arm, 

I range the forests wide. 
And now the regal buffalo 

Across the plains I chase ; 
Now track the mountain stream, to find 

The beaver's lurking place. 

I stand upon the mountain's top. 

And (solitude profound !) 
Not even a woodman's smoke curls up 

Within the horizon's bound. 
Below, as o'er its ocean breadth 

The air's light currents run. 
The wilderness of moving leaves 

Is glancing in the sun. 

I look around to where the sky 

Meets the far forest line, 
And this imperial domain. 

This kingdom — all is mine. 
This bending heaven — these floating clouds. 

Waters that ever roll, 
And wilderness of glory, bring 

Their offerings to my soul. 

My palace, built by God's own hand. 
The world's fresh prime hath seen; 

Wide stretch its living halls away, 
Pillared and roofed with green. 



310 THE NE VV-II AMPSHIKE BOOK 



My music is the wind that now 

Pours loud its swelling bars, 
Now lulls in dying cadences, 

My festal lamps are stars. 

Though when, in this my lonely home, 
My star-watched couch I press, 

I hear no fond " good night " — think not 
I am companionless. 

no ! I see my father's house, 
The hill, the tree, the stream. 

And the looks and voices of my home 
Come gently to my dream. 

And in the solitary haunts. 

While slumbers every tree 
In night and silence, God himself 

Seems nearer unto me. 

1 feel his presence in the shades 

Like the embracing air ; 
And as my eyelids close in sleep, 
My heart is hushed in prayer. 



AGRICULTURE: ITS DIGNITY AND IMPOR- 
TANCE. 

BY JOHN A. DIX. 

We are informed by the most ancient of human records, 
that the cultivation of the earth was one of the first occupa- 
tions of men ; and as we emerge from the darkness and 
doubt which envelope a later period in the history of our 
race, we find it ranked in the annals of the most distinguish- 
ed nations, among the highest and most honorable pursuits. 
Egypt, principally through the extraordinary fertility of her 
soil, renewed by the annual inundations of the Nile, which 
were turned to the best account by artificial structures and 
by the laborious industry of her inhabitants, became one of 
the most wealthy and powerful of the nations of antiquity. 

Among the Samnites and Latins the national religion was 
associated with the labors of agriculture and a pastoral life. 
At a later period, the public domain was parcelled out in 
small portions among the great body of the people, an agri- 
cultural priesthood, under the name of " fratres arvales," 
was instituted, and every encouragement which the law could 
afford was extended to the cultivators of the soil. When 
Rome had reached the height of her power, her most emi- 
nent citizens were seen, like the humblest, laboring in the 
fields with their own hands. It was the privilege of the 
agricultural class for several centuries to fill the ranks of the 
Roman Legion ; her civil and military commanders were 
sought for at the plough, and her rewards for great services 
to the commonwealth consisted of donations of land. 

In Greece, agriculture, though honored in some of the 



312 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

principal states, never attained the same importance that it 
possessed in Rome. No r is it surprising, when their physical 
and political condition is considered. In Sparta, all manual 
labor except that which related to war was performed by 
slaves. The face of Attica was broken, furrowed by hills 
and vales, and her soil not fertile. Yet agriculture was not 
wanting in dignity in Athens. Xenophon, the leader of the 
Ten Thousand in their masterly retreat, wrote treatises on 
practical husbandry, and when driven from his native city 
gave public lectures on the science. Such was the dignity 
of agriculture in ancient times. 

o 

In the countries of Europe, the state of agriculture varies 
with peculiarities of climate, soil and political organization. 
In Russia the earth is cultivated almost exclusively by serfs, 
subject to the arbitrary will of the noble who owns the soiL 
Manual labor in any art, almost necessarily partakes of the 
character of those by whom it is carried on ; and in Russia, 
therefore, agriculture, as an occupation, is degraded. In 
the northern parts of Italy, in the Netherlands and Holstein, 
and in some of the German states, the soil, under judicious 
systems of husbandry and an elaborate culture, has attained 
the highest degree of productiveness. In France a new 
impulse has been given to agricultural improvement, by the 
extreme subdivision of the soil, which has grown out of the 
law of equal succession, and the confiscation and sale of lands 
belonging to the church and to the expatriated nobles who 
followed the fortunes of the Bourbons. 

But in none of these countries has agriculture gained the 
distinction which it possesses in England. The great land- 
ed proprietors belong to the nobility. They are foremost 
in the proceedings of agricultural societies, at fairs and 
cattle shows, and in all matters connected with the rural 
economy of the kingdom. Through the operation of the 
corn laws, the bread stuffs of foreign countries are, in seasons 
of ordinary abundance, excluded from her markets, and a 
monopoly is thus secured to her own grains. Though the 
effect of this system of exclusion is to make the great body 



A Cx R I C U L T U R E . 313 

of the people, eat dear bread, it has given an extraordinary 
impetus to her agricultural industry. In 1760 the popula- 
tion of Great Britain was seven and a half millions ; in 1831 
over sixteen millions. In 1760 the total growth of grain of 
all kinds in the kingdom was about one hundred and seventy 
millions of bushels ; in 1835 it was estimated at three hun- 
dred and forty millions — just double. Though the increase 
in the quantity of grain produced, falls somewhat short of 
the increase of her population, it is a matter of astonishment 
that an island, having less than double the surface of New 
York, and a considerable portion of it broken and inaccessi- 
ble to the plough and the harrow, should be capable of sus- 
taining fifteen millions of inhabitants. Yet it is supposed 
that its agricultural produce might still be doubled, and that 
at least thirty millions of people might be subsisted without 
importing grain from abroad. 

Without intending to institute any invidious comparison 
between different branches of industry, it may be said, that 
in importance, agriculture stands preeminent. It is the 
great fountain from which animal life derives its support ; 
it supplies the materials on which almost every other species 
of labor is employed ; and it furnishes to man the occupa- 
tion most favorable to his happiness and his moral elevation. 
To give a country the highest degree of wealth and power 
which it is capable of attaining, agriculture must be sustain- 
ed by commerce and manufactures ; but it may dispense 
with both the latter and yet retain its prosperity. The con- 
dition of the United States is favorable to all these pursuits ; 
but whatever may be the fate of our commerce and manu- 
factures, we must, as an agricultural country, rank among 
the first nations of the earth. In this field of labor we fear 
no competition. The productions of our agriculture have 
but one limit — the demand for them. Centuries must elapse 
before they will be limited, as in the densely populated states 
of Europe, by the powers of the soil. We have not only 
the ability of expanding to an immense degree, by means of 
our vast unoccupied domain beyond the lakes and the Mis- 
27 



314 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

sissippi ; but we have the ability of increasing to an indefi- 
nite extent upon the surface we now occupy. 

With these prospects before us the importance of our 
agricultural industry cannot be overrated. The estimate in 
which it is now held, falls far short of its true value. Just 
opinions have made and are still making some progress, but 
agriculture cannot attain its true rank, until it shall be re- 
garded, like the learned professions, as one of the direct 
avenues to honor and wealth. In a country like our own, 
in a course of most rapid developement, the temptations and 
excitements which are presented to the young and sanguine, 
in the pursuit of fortune, prove, unhappily, an overmatch 
for the sober occupations of agricultural industry, and its 
slow but certain rewards. The healthful labors of the field 
are too often abandoned for the confinement of the counting 
room and the lawyer's office, or for hazardous pecuniary 
enterprise. Yet how many a merchant who has fallen a 
victim to an overstrained credit ; how many a lawyer who 
ekes out a scanty subsistence . for himself and family by a 
plodding, laborious profession ; how many an adventurer in 
speculation, who has seen his air-built fabrics fall, one by 
one, to the ground, would have improved his condition in 
regard to health, respectability and fortune, by devoting 
himself to the pursuits of agriculture ! 



FAME AND LOVE. 



BY SAMUEL T. HILDRETH 



Once while in slumbers wrapt I dreamt of Fame, 
And saw my native cliffs with garlands bound, 
And heard the vales with lofty echoes sound, 

Calling with thousand tongues upon my name. 

But when I wandered forth among the crowd, 
To seize with eager hand the laurel twine, 
To claim the envied, glorious prize as mine. 

And drink with longing ear those praises loud, 

Methought I felt strange loneliness of soul, 
An icy desolation at my heart, 
A sense of gioominess that would not part, 

A tide of anguish, that with blackened roll 

Swept heavily along my saddened breast ; 

1 found myself accursed when thinking to be blest ! 

Joy ! joy ! those dreams were changed : I slept again, 
To see a peaceful cot with vines o'ergrown. 
Around whose door a thousand flowers were strown, 

While merry warblers tuned a careless strain, 

From a young grove that waved its branches near. 
And woman's voice, soft as the breath of eve, 
When summer winds their twilight dances weave, 

With gentlest murmur stole upon mine ear ! 

I blessed that holy spot — those welcome notes. 
The natural music of a well-known voice. 
Whose tones now make my eager pulse rejoice. 

As from the past a transient echo floats. 

Here mutual love in peace and silence dwelt. 

And every morn and night before the altar knelt. 



I WOULD NOT LIYE ALWAY. 



BY OTIS A. SKINNER 



Death is Ihe crown of life : 
Were deatli denied, poor man would live in vain : 
"Were deatli denied, to live would not be life : 
Were death denied, e'en fools would wish to die. 
Death wounds to cure ; we fall, we rise, we reign 1 
Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies, 
Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : 
Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. 
This king of terrors is the prince of peace. 
When shall I die to vanity, pain, death f 
When shall I die f When shall I live for ever? 

Tounq's 'Night TnonGHTs.' 

In ancient paintings Death was likened to a crowned 
skeleton, " with a dart in hand." Among the Jews it was 
represented as having a sword, " from which deadly drops 
of gall fell into the hearts of all men." The apostle has 
given us the same idea in his bold personification of Death, 
where he describes it as an enemy, with a dagger to lay 
waste the nations of earth. The empire of this destroying 
angel is universal. Kings, reigning in pride and cruelty ; 
warriors, riding in triumph over conquered nations; states- 
men, toiling in the cause of freedom and humanity ; divines, 
breathing the peaceful spirit of the gospel into the hearts of 
sinners, and lifting them up in knowledge and virtue ; youth, 
cheered by the brightest hopes and fairest promises of 
earth, — are all alike subject to his dominion. The agents 
by which he accomplishes his dark designs are innumera- 
ble. Disease, in its multifarious forms, the goadings of 
conscience, the angry winds, the heaving waves, and the 
vivid lightning, are all instruments which he wields from 
sea to sea. His, too, are all seasons. 



I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. 317 

" Leaves have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 

And stars to set, — but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! 

" We know when moons shall wane, 
When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, 

When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain, 
But who shall teach us when to look for thee ! " 

All places, also, are Death's. 

" Thou art where billows foam ; 
Thou art where music melts upon the air ; 

Thou art around us in our peaceful home ; 
And the world calls us forth, and thou art there. 

" Thou art where friend meets friend. 
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest : 

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend 
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest." 

Thus Death is mdeed a " king of terrors," an enemy 
which delights in severing the nearest relations of life, 
blighting its fondest hopes, and spreading darkness over its 
fairest scenes. And yet, there are seasons when his com- 
ing is welcomed with gladness, and he is hailed as the 
" prince of peace." Not all the pains he can inflict, or the 
repulsive forms, with which he can crowd the imagination, 
can render us unwilling to resign ourselves into his arms. 
None can wish to live alway, however much they may be 
fascinated by the charms of existence, or however fondly 
they may cling to its treasures in the morning and meridian 
of their days, and when the rose of health blooms upon the 
cheek, and the eye is bright with hope. Sickness, adver- 
sity, age, and the ravages of time, make us anxious to retire 
from this troubled world, and cause a darkness to settle 
upon the soul, which nothing but death can dissipate. 

The attractions of the other world, as well as the evils of 
the present, render death welcome. Heaven's attractions ! 
What a theme for the contemplation of the christian! 
Who can find language to express them in their fulness and 
power ? Do they consist of gold and pearls, and magnifi- 
27* 



318 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK, 

cent palaces; of " myrtle boughs," " feathery palm trees," 
" green islands," " bright birds " of " starry wings," and 
rainbow beauties ? O no ! heaven's joys and treasures are 
all spiritual — they have nothing of earth or its imperfec- 
tions. Here, we see through a glass darkly, and are full of 
false and obscure ideas ; but in heaven, we shall see face to 
face, and be tilled with the fulness of knowledge. Then all 
those mysteries in the divine government, which have so 
perplexed our minds and tried our faith, will be solved ; and 
the wisdom and goodness of those events, which have 
filled us with doubt and grief, will be as manifest as the 
most signal displays of mercy. Here we are far away from 
the Father and the Son, and cherish for them a cold and 
feeble regard ; but there, we shall stand in their immediate 
presence, see the fulness of their glory, and be absorbed in 
love. Here, we live in fi'ail tenements, and are corruptible ; 
but there, we shall be clothed with immortality and incor- 
ruptibility. Here, the ties of friendship are sundered, and 
the sad farewell falls like the knell of death upon the ear ; 
but there, parting will be unknown, and union will be 
eternal. 

Heaven ! it is a house not made with hands, lighted up 
with the splendors of Jehovah. It is a world of infinite 
plenty, eternal serenity, and unspeakable felicity. It is the 
home of the soul, the city which God hath built to be the 
perpetual habitation of his children ; where, free from the 
misrule of passion, the darkness of sin, and every sound 
of wo, they shall raise the eternal song of triumph and 
thanksgiving. Who can think of its riches and glories, 
and not feel his soul attracted away from earth ? 

" Hark ! they whisper ! angels say, 
Sister spirit, come away ! " 

^' O, who would live alway, away from his God, 
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode, 
Where tlie rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains, 
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns ? " 



THE AUTUMN ROSE. 



JM I S S M A R Y S . P A T T E R S O X 



I SAW, one bright autumnal day, 

A beauteous rose unfold ; 
And to a genial sun display 

A bosom decked with gold ; 
I gazed upon the lovely flower, 

With rapturous delight, 
And thought its charms had spell of power 

To make even winter bright. 

I wished that autumn rose so fair 

In radiance long might bloom. 
And shed through the surrounding air 

Its beauty and perfume. 
Vain wish ! for on its ruddiness. 

Soon fell a withering blast ; 
It drooped, and all its loveliness 

Died ere the day was past ! 

So pass earth's fairest flowers away, 

So dies the parent's joy ; 
As clouds obscure the brightest day. 

And griefs the heart annoy ; 
But there 's a balm for souls oppressed, 

A hope the heart to stay ; 
A bosom where the head may rest. 

While tears are wiped away. 

Thrice happy they who can repose. 

In calm and holy trust. 
On Him who wept for others' woes. 

Who raised the sleeping dust ; 
Who in a glorious robe of white 

Arrays the blood-bought soul, 
And bids it rest in realms of light, 

While endless ages roll ! 



THE TRUE PATRIOT. 



Y JEREMIAH SMITH. 



It has often been remarked, that Nature, as if parsimo- 
nious of her choicest gifts, has rarely bestowed on her fa- 
vorite children, talents to excel, in the various and multi- 
plied pursuits of human life. The race of heroes has 
generally proved as destructive in peace, as they have been 
terrible in war, while the ablest statesmen have been found, 
on experiment, incapable of acquiring any degree of milita- 
ry fame. It was this sentiment, founded as it would seem 
in nature, and justified by experience, which led the fond 
admirers of Washino-ton to fear, that he might lose at the 
helm of state some portion of that glory which he had won 
at the head of our armies. To have expressed a belief at 
this interesting period of his life, that his glory was capable 
of any addition, would have been condemned as implying 
deficiency in a character deemed complete. To have in- 
dulged even the hope of an increase of honors, would have 
been viewed in no other light, than as one of those flattering 
delusions, which our wishes sometimes contrive to impose 
on our judgment. 

Entering upon a frame of government, excellent indeed 
in theory, but which had not as yet received the sanction 
of experience, it required no small share of political ability 
to lay the foundations of our civil institutions in such a 
manner, as best to secure domestic tranquillity, establish 
justice, promote the general welfare, and thus, in the way 
of gradual progression, to raise our country to that rank 



THE TRUE PATRIOT. 32 1 

and importance among the nations, to which we seem des- 
tined by the God of nature. 

Without derogating from the praises due to the able and 
enlightened statesmen, who filled the subordinate depart- 
ments of government, we can never forget, how much we 
owe to his prudence, judgment, and unremitted labors, 
that, while other nations are involved in a bloody and de- 
structive war, our happy country has enjoyed so much in- 
ternal tranquillity ; that she has had time to mature her 
recent institutions ; and to acquire that portion of strength, 
which, with the blessing of Heaven, will enable her to sup- 
port her independence, and maintain her just rights against 
all her enemies. 

If the happiness of an unembodied spirit at all consists in 
the possession of felicitating ideas of the past, as doubtless 
it does, how great must be the happiness of Washington ? 
As the saviour of his country, great must be his crown of 
rejoicing. On earth he sought no rewards, no statues, 
no triumphs. The attributes and decorations of royalty 
could only have served to eclipse the majesty of those 
virtues, which made him from being a modest citizen 
a more resplendent luminary. But on earth he was not 
without his reward. His was the reward of success attend- 
ing all his patriotic labors ; his the honest pride of virtue, 
and above all, the exquisite delight of beholding the gen- 
eral happiness, of which he was so eminently the author. 
The tokens of affection for his pure character, the proofs of 
gratitude for his services, and of reverence for his wisdom 
and preeminent virtues, exhibited by every description of 
persons at his death, will forever show how greatly he was 
beloved, esteemed, and honored by his country ; and will 
serve to rescue our nation from the reproach of ingratitude, 
which has been cast on republics. He is now exalted 
above all earthly praise — we shall see his face no more. 
But the glory of his virtue will reach beyond the grave. 
When our rising empire shall have risen and sunk again 
into ruin, it will live and continue to animate remotest 
ages. 



322 



THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 



Age has its claims, and rank is not without its preten- 
sions to advise ; but the counsels of Washington come 
recommended by additional claims to our regard. His last 
address to his countrymen is the result of much wisdom, 
collected from experience ; it was dictated by the heart, 
and may be viewed as the dying words of a father to his 
children. Cultivate union and brotherly affection, (it is 
thus he speaks to us,) that the sacred fire of liberty 
may be preserved, and the preeminence of the republican 
model of government exemplified, as that which secures to 
the people the greatest portion of liberty, prosperity, and 
happiness. On this union, be assured, depends your peace 
abroad, your safety at home. 

Moderate the fury of party spirit. It is this, which dis- 
turbs your public councils, and enfeebles your administra- 
tion. Banish local prejudices as well as party views. Cher- 
ish public credit, and for that end contribute to the public 
revenues, and cheerfully bear the public burdens. 

Observe good faith and justice to all nations. Cultivate 
peace and harmony with all. Present to the world the ex- 
ample, as magnanimous as it is rare, of a people always 
guided by an exalted justice and benevolence. 

Dismiss your inveterate hatred for some nations, and 
your passionate attachment for others. These passions are 
alike destructive to your peace and independence. It would 
be credulity to expect, and degrading to accept, favors from 
any nation. 

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence maintain 
a watchful and constant jealousy. It is the deadly foe of 
republican government. Guard no less strenuously against 
the impostures of pretended patriots at home, than against 
the mischiefs of foreign intrigue. It is easy for the worst 
men to adopt the language of the virtuous, and for your 
greatest enemies to assume the appearance of the most dis- 
interested zeal for your interests, and the most ardent at- 
tachment for your persons ; while at the same time they are 
but the tools of foreign intrigue, and seeking their own 



THE TRUE PATRIOT. 323 

personal aggrandizement at your expense. The means 
they employ to accomplish their ends, will serve to point out 
to you the persons of this description. These means are no 
other, than the dissemination of suspicions, jealousies, and 
calumnies against the best and most virtuous of your citi- 
zens ; and that, because they possess, what they so justly 
deserve, your favor and confidence. 

But above all, cherish and promote the interests of 
knowledge, virtue, and religion. They are indispensable 
to the support of any free government, and in a peculiar 
manner to those of the popular kind. Let it never be for- 
gotten, that there can be no genuine freedom, where there 
is no morality, and no sound morality where there is no 
religion. Morality without religion will soon lose its obli- 
gation, and religion without morality will degenerate into 
superstition, which will corrupt instead of ameliorating the 
mass, into which it is infused. Let no man have your con- 
fidence, who is destitute of either. Hesitate not a moment 
to believe, that the man who labors to destroy these two 
great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the 
duties of men and citizens, whatever may be his profes- 
sions of patriotism, is neither a good patriot nor a good 
man. 

May it please the supreme ruler of the universe and sov- 
ereign arbiter of nations, to make our happy country as 
distinguished for the practice of piety and morality, as for 
the love of liberty and social order ; perpetuate to our 
country that prosperity, which his goodness has already 
conferred, and verify the anticipations, that this govern- 
ment, instituted under the auspices of heaven, shall long 
continue the asylum of the oppressed, and a safeguard to 
human rights. 



A SLEIGHING SONG. 



BY J. T . FIELDS 



O SWIFT we go o'er the fleecy snow, 
When moon-beams sparkle round ; 
When hoofs keep time to music's chime, 
As merrily on we bound. 

On a winter's night, when hearts are light. 
And health is on the wind, 
We loose the rein and sweep the plain. 
And leave our care behind. 

With a laugh and song, we glide along 
Across the fleeting snow. 
With friends beside, how swift we ride 
On the beautiful track below ! 

O the raging sea has joy for me. 
When gale and tempests roar ; 
But give me the speed of a foaming steed, 
And I '11 ask for the waves no more. 



THE AMERICAN EDUCATION SOCIETY. 

BY WILLIAM COGSWELL, D.D. 

The American Education Society is calculated in its dis- 
cipline to promote the corporeal, mental and spiritual in- 
terests of the young men under its care, and thus prove a 
blessing to the church. By inducing habits of temperance, 
economy and industry, it will bring forward for the minis- 
try, men of health and of physical and mental vigor. They 
will, it may be hoped, possess a sound mind in a sound body 
— be men of bone, and muscle, and nerve, who will endure 
hardness as good soldiers — men of such entire consecra- 
tion to Christ and the church, that they would go to the 
stake should God call them to it — men of the spirit of 
Whitefield, who shall be instrumental in converting thou- 
sands ; of Buchanan, who shall penetrate the heart of India 
for its sanctification ; of Samuel J. Mills, who shall devise 
plans that shall move the world. Such physical and men- 
tal discipline as is enjoined by this Society, would, I had 
almost said, create a body and mind too, and preserve both. 
Were the beneficiaries to comply fully with its requisitions, 
we should no more hear of dyspepsia among them, than we 
should of suicide. Now 

" Mine ear is pained, 
My soul is sick of every day's report " 

of youth in a course of education, sacrificed by premature 
disease and death, through inactivity and neglect of proper 
exercise. 

The practice of pastoral supervision, by personal visita- 

28 



326 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

tion and religious conference and prayer, and by epistolary 
correspondence, is well adapted to promote in the benefici- 
aries deep-toned piety — piety like that of Edwards, Brain- 
erd, and Payson. And may it not be hoped that men thus 
trained, will be ministers after the model of the primitive 
age, such as the exigencies of the Church require — " full of 
the Holy Ghost and of faith," like Paul and Barnabas ? 

Such are the nature and effects of the American Educa- 
tion Society. And should not such an institution receive 
the cordial support of the friends of Zion 1 Will not the 
consideration of what it has already accomplished, and what 
it may be expected to accomplish in time to come, insure it 
patronage 1 Besides the happy influence it has had on the 
ministers and churches who have sustained its operations, 
it has assisted nearly two thousand persons in their prepar- 
ation to preach the gospel of Christ. Of these, between 
five and six hundred have entered the ministry. Thirty or 
forty of them have been employed in diffusing the light of 
salvation amid the darkness of heathenism ; one hundred 
and seventy have labored as missionaries in our own beloved 
country ; and most of the others have settled in various 
parts of the United States. Shall I tell what ninety-two 
of them have done since they commenced preparation for the 
ministry? From particular statistical returns, it appears 
that they have taught schools and academies two hundred 
and one years ; instructed twenty-six thousand eight hun- 
dred and sixty-five children and youth ; have been instru- 
mental of one hundred and eighty-three revivals of religion, 
and of the hopeful conversion of about twenty thousand 
souls, each soul, according to the estimate of Jesus Christ, 
of more value than worlds. They have instructed in Sab- 
bath schools, Bible and theological classes, fourteen thou- 
sand eight hundred individuals. They preach the gospel 
statedly to forty thousand souls. The contributions for the 
various benevolent purposes made in one year in their par- 
isheSj amounted to upwards of sixteen thousand dollars. If 
ninety-two of these ministers have accomplished all this for 



THE AMERICAN EDUCATION SOCIETY. 327 

the church, what have the five or six hundred done ? Tongue 
cannot express, imagination cannot conceive. And can a 
society which has done so much for Zion, and which is cal- 
culated to do incomparably more, fail of support in a land 
of free institutions ; in a land eifulgent with the beams of 
gospel light and love — a land which is the glory of all 
lands? No, it cannot. If New England furnishes the 
West with some of her best ministers for the support of your 
churches and your literary and theological institutions, sure- 
ly she will not withhold pecuniary aid. 

The time may come when the East will implore assist- 
ance from the West. While casting my eyes over this im- 
mense Valley, two thousand four hundred miles in length, 
and one thousand two hundred in breadth, and viewing the 
mighty Mississippi and its noble tributaries, the unparallel- 
ed richness of the soil, and the facilities for acquiring sus- 
tenance and property by land, water and steam, I am lost 
in admiration of this western world — of its present and 
prospective extent, wealth and power — greatness and glory. 
As Christianity dawned upon the East and spread her beams 
of effulgence to these goings down of the sun, and as rays 
of light and love are now from this goodly land reflected 
upon benighted portions of the eastern hemisphere; so 
the American Education Society commenced its operations 
in the East, and has extended its influence to the West ;• 
and when years shall have rolled away, the state of society 
may be reversed, and the eastern states may depend, at least 
in some degree, on the western for the light of life and sal- 
vation, which they may be permitted to enjoy. 



THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 



B Y A SC HOOL-GIRL. 



Th5 first discoverers of America believed that there was a fountain in Florida which had the miraculous 
power of restoring youtli to the aged. 

" We are travelling on to the fountain of youth, yet brothers stay 
awhile, 

And dream once more of our sunny land where the laughing vine- 
yards smile ; 

Then our steps we '11 speed, though weary and faint, to the dim and 
distant shore, 

Where we deem that the clouds of sorrow and grief will trouble our 
eyes no more. 

For they tell us that there, in that radiant land, that beautiful land of 

dreams, 
The summer and sunshine doth never pass from the blue and silvery 

streams. 
And a dim and strange mysterious strength on the sparkling rills is lain, 
For the spirit of God has breathed on the waves and they bring us our 

youth again. 

Then speed, let us speed, to the glorious strand, where the gems lie 

thick like dew, 
And bathe in the fount and the murmuring rills that bring us our 

youth anew ; 
For our life is a cold and a weary thing, in this mansion-house of wo. 
But pain will flee on the emerald banks where the lulling waters flow." 

But they never found the Fountain of Youth, on that lonely and 

lovely shore, 
And their wasted joys and their rifled gems, came back on their souls 

no more ; 
But they found a stream of enduring strength, whose beauty can 

never fade. 
More bright than the rivers of light that flow in the wilderness gloom 

and shade. 

For their faith grew firm and their trust more deep in the spirit of 

God above. 
And their hearts were filled with a holier hope, a higher and purer love ; 
Their strength was strong, for they knew that their tears had not been 

given in vain. 
And they found the Fountain of Youth on high, in the Eden Land 

again ! 



THE WATER OF LIFE. 



BY REV. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. 

" The water that I shall give him shall he in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." 

Our Saviour in conversing with the Samaritan woman, 
compared his religion to a living fountain within the breast. 
Because it is internal it shall not perish like outward and 
visible things. This is the emphatic part of the sentence, — 
it shall be in him, and because it is in him it shall continue 
to flow for ever. We cannot be supposed to feel what the 
power of that illustration was in a climate where the broad 
rivers shrank to silver threads, and the earth was parched 
and blackened by the summer sun. But the truth which it 
conveys, and the promise which it contains within it, are 
clear to every eye, — the promise that religion, being an in- 
ternal principle, shall not share the fate of those things which 
perish with tlie using, and pass away. The same thing 
which makes it permanent in single hearts, insures its per- 
petual duration in the world ; and in times when the moral 
aspect of the world indicates strong tendencies to infidelity, 
such a promise, based on a familiar truth, serves to encour- 
age the hopes of believers. 

But whence comes this confidence ? Why are we so sure 
that the stream which our Saviour drew from the rock in the 
wilderness will never cease to flow ? Do we think that the 
hope of heaven and the fear of hell will always make men 
christians? Do we suppose that many who reject Christian- 
ity now, will be driven to it for consolation in their dark 
and troubled hours'? Or do we take encouragement from 
beholding how it has grown out of smafl beginnings, and 
28* 



330 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

overspread the civilized world ? No doubt these things help 
our confidence. But the foundation of it is, that man wants 
Christianity ; there is a thirst in the soul which no other ele- 
ment will supply. He must turn to some invisible power 
above him ; he cannot confine his aspirations to the beings 
about him, and the present world. Having these wants, he 
cannot give up Christianity, the only religion which professes 
to supply them, or even acknowledges their existence. By 
the unquestionable testimony of works, which no one could 
do unless God were with him, Jesus assures him that he is 
divinely sent to the world, sent on purpose to supply this 
huno-er and thirst of the soul for more than man and this 

o 

earth can give. 

This, then, is the truth, that the religious feeling lies deep 
in our nature, ready to welcome the disclosures of Christian- 
ity as soon as it knows that God has sent them from above. 
You appeal to the moral sense and the religious feeling in 
others ; and their moral sense and religious feeling start up 
from their death-like slumber. When you bring your chil- 
dren to reflect upon the subject, it is not an external process ; 
the work is done within, for well does inspiration say, that 
the fountain of devotion must be in him, within the man, or 
it cannot flow unto everlasting life. When you go to some 
poor hardened wretch, and try to touch his heart, you feel 
that your words are powerless, and that nothing you can say 
will make the least impression ; yet at that very moment, 
perhaps, the religious feeling is waking ; it is something 
within himself, which rises up and masters him ; his fierce 
defiance sinks away, his tears begin to fall, — his own spirit 
is in action and will do the rest ; for to wake him to a sense 
of his guilt and danger is all that you can do. 

A great and inspiring truth this ! that the thirst for reli- 
gion is born in the human breast. Stifled and suppressed 
it may be, — stifled and suppressed indeed it is ; buried deep 
both in single hearts and great communities, under a crush- 
incr weight of meaner interests and passions. Still it is there ; 
and had we a divining rod for the purpose, we could find the 



THE WATER OF LIFE. 331 

living spring under all the worldliness that surrounds us. 
We are told that engineers are now sounding the Asiatic 
deserts with Artesian wells; and they are sure to find the 
element far down beneath the sands that are whitened by 
the suns of ages. And those who, in the name of Jesus 
Christ, have gone into moral deserts, into those howling 
wastes of abandoned men in which the world abounds, ex- 
ploring the haunts of sensual excess, the caverns of the dun- 
geon and the kmes of poverty, have found that if not weary 
in well doing, they could set springs of devotion flowing 
even there ; all was not evil ; the veriest rocks of the wil- 
derness have melted under the touch of holy and gentle 
hands. 

If these things are so, — and they are so, — who can 
have any fears for Christianity ? Infidelity has no sympathy 
with our nature. It makes no provision for the thirst of the 
soul. It knows no such wants ; but such wants there are, 
and the faith which does not supply them is no religion for 
man. Such wants there are, and Christianity, the only faith 
which satisfies them, cannot be lost. It may at times be 
overlooked, for it springs apart from the dusty wayside of 
life. It may be undervalued, for none can estimate it aright 
but those who have made trial of its power ; but, like the ele- 
ment to which our Saviour likened it, it is essential and in- 
dispensable ; man cannot do without it ; and, therefore, it 
will continue to flow long after the sun has withdrawn his 
shining, and the stars are pale with age. 

What are often regarded as indications of the decline of 
Christianity, are signs rather of its progress ; it is throwing 
off every weight, redeeming itself from human inventions, 
and preparing to extend and be glorified in the world as it 
never yet has been. So far from being lost, it will come 
into nearer intimacy with the human heart. In what forms 
it will manifest itself in coming time, it is not ours to say. 
It will not probably manifest itself in new forms, so much as 
an indifference to forms compared with realities, — not such 
an indifference as is found and sometimes boasted among us 



332 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

now, — not the indifference of those to whom religious forms 
are an unmeaning language, because they have never known 
the feeling which those forms express; but the indifference 
of those who are so profoundly impressed with the substance 
and spirit of Christianity, that if a man's heart is in his reli- 
gion, they care not in what dialect he prays, whether he 
stands or kneels in devotion, whether he holds a creed or 
governs his life by the Scriptures alone — they are glad to 
see any form in which the faith can gain for itself a warmer 
welcome in any heart. But I do wrong to use the word in- 
difference in connexion with such a feeling as this ; it is 
rather an interest in all forms which breathe the true spirit 
of those who use them ; its watchword is, Christ is preached, 
and I therein do rejoice. It makes believers friendly to the 
whole-hearted of every party, — it allows them to be unkind 
and unjust to none. 

And now let me ask, have you ever reflected, that when 
our Saviour likened his religion to a living spring, he com- 
pared it to the most durable of earthly things ? Fleeting and 
perishable as it seems, there is nothing more enduring. 
Many a wayfarer goes to the land where Jesus lived, a region 
made so sacred by his presence, that men have called it the 
Holy Land. They look for Samaria, the great city of the 
kings ; they find nothing save the well where Jesus talked with 
the Samaritan woman, and see women coming as in past ages, 
to draw from it' in the heat of the day. They find no vestige 
of Tyre, the city whose merchants were princes ; but the 
same waves welter round the lonely shores, and the fisher- 
man spreads his nets upon the desolate rock. They seek 
for Jerusalem as it was ; but the daughter of Zion is chang- 
ed ; the crown is fallen from her brow ; the holy and beauti- 
ful house is gone for ever ; while the fountain of Siloam, fast 
by the oracle of God, flows full and bright as in the day when 
the priests filled their golden urns from it, singing, " with joy 
ye shall draw water from the wells of salvation." The trav- 
eller asks for the ruins of Capernaum, where our Saviour 
made his home. Once it was exalted to heaven in its pride ; 



THE WATER OF LIFE. 333 

now there is not a stone to show the place of its grave ; 
while the sea of Tiberias, where he called his disciples, and 
where he reproved the winds and waves and they obeyed 
him, still spreads out its blue waters, though for ages no 
dashing oar has broken the slumber of its tide. 

He meant that his religion should endure ; and, there- 
fore, he would not write it with an iron pen in the rock for 
ever ; he chose rather to have it engraven on the only im- 
mortal thing in this world ; and that is the heart of man. 
The heart and impressions made in it will endure for ever. 
This is the reason that Christianity still exists, while cities, 
kingdoms and empires have passed away. This is the rea- 
son that it shall endure unchanged, when rocks and moun- 
tains shall melt, and the earth shall be a scorched and black- 
ened ruin. It cannot perish like the works of man and 
the visible elements of nature. It is an immortal fountain 
to supply the thirst of the soul for ever. 



LEONORE D'ESTE. 



BY MRS. L. J. B. CASE 



" There are few episodes in modern history on wliich so much has been written, and which has fur- 
nished such a theme for dispute, as Torquato 'I'asso's connexion with the Princess Leonure D'Este. The 
evidences that liis passion was returned are most co:nplots ; they are Leonora's own letters." 

Thk lamps are dim, the banquet-room is lonely, 

The voice of song hath died in hall and bovver ; 
Italia's soft and starry midnight, only, 

Looks on her now, — provid Este's peerless flower. 
She sits alone : through the wide casement stealing, 

The night-wind lifts her long and drooping hair, 
With its light touch the raournlul thought levealing, 

That clouds her eye, and knits her forehead fair. 

She hath been gay to-night, and, proudly veiling ' 

Each troubled ieeling with a joyous glance. 
Hath met Alphonso's eye with look unquailing, 

And led, the merriest, in the mazy dance. 
But tliis hath passed, and love, too wildly cherished, 

Again hath risen with subduing power, 
And phantom forms of happiness that perished 

Come dimly gliding through this lonely hour. 

There 's wealth around her ; costly jewels, gleaming, 

Clasp her fair neck, and band her regal brow : 
Beauty, that lives but in the poet's dreaming. 

Smiles from the marble walls upon her now : 
She heeds it not; each restless thought is roving 

To a dark cell, where daylight seldom falls, 
Where he, the lofty-minded and the loving. 

Sees but the spider clothe the mouldy walls. 

O, well to him may woman's love be given. 

That lonel}' dreamer of immortal dreams; 
For founts, that rise amid the fields of heaven, 

Have bathed his spirit with celestial streams; 
And he hath walked with radiant ones, whose dwelling 

Is in the land where beauty owes its birth; 
And the proud tales his lofty lyre is telling 

Shall send undying echoes through the earth. 



LEON ORE d'eSTE. 335 

Thine is a clouded pathway, Genius ! never 

Upon thy dreary lot life's sunlight shines; 
Baptized in wo, and consecrated ever 

To lead the worship at ideal shrines ! 
Ay, bind thy glorious visions on thy spirit; 

Let them uplift thee o'er thy mournful fate : 
With the proud mission that thou dost inherit 

Is ever linked life sad and desolate. 

And thou, who through long days of gloom dost languish, 

And for thy soul's bright star in darkness pme. 
Comes there no voice, upon thine hours of anguish, 

To say, though flvr away, she still is thine ? 
To say there 's one whose heart for thee beats only, 

Though crowds are pleading her bright smiles to share; 
Who finds Ferrara's princely palace lonely, 

Since thy blue eye and song are wanting there ? 

Sad Leonore ! so long hast thou been turning. 

With love's fond worship, to those soul-lit eyes. 
That, to thy gaze, no other suns are burning ; 

Earth hath no light save what within them lies. 
Blest is thy love, though mournful, shedding ever 

Into thy depths of soul its sunny ray. 
And bringing bright illusions, that shall never 

Fade in life's dark realities away ! 

Then gem thy golden tresses on the morrow. 

And smile again in thine ancestral hall : 
Earth's children know full many a sterner sorrow 

Than on divided love may ever fall ! 
Your hearts are one ; and thence perpetual gladness 

Shall fling o'er life its soft and rainbow gleams; 
For love hath power, through separation's sadness, 

To wrap the spirit in elysian dreams. 






CHARACTER OF REV. JOSEPH EMERSON. 

BORN AT HOLLIS. DIED AT WEATHERSFIELD, CONN. 
BY CALEB J. TENNEY, D. D. 

His has been a life of uncommon usefulness. Omitting 
all other particulars, I here allude only to the good he 
did as the teacher and principal of his Seminary. The 
instruction he imparted to a multitude of our youth, co- 
operated perfectly in its influence with the high design of 
the ministry. In the introduction and establishment of fe- 
male seminaries in New England, he was very much a 
pioneer. Such celebrity did he secure to his institution for 
its system, accuracy, thoroughness, and christian character, 
that far and wide he spread before the public mind the im- 
portance of female education. His may properly be called 
a parent institution. For several of his pupils and many 
others followed his example in establishing schools of a high 
order for young ladies. His usefulness in this respect, has 
surpassed that of any other teacher of females within the 
last half century. 

Besides this, the instruction he actually communicated 
to many, many hundreds of minds, and the success with 
which he taught them how to think, how to read, how to 
learn, and how to feel and act, constitute an untold amount 
of good. By him a vast number were prepared for elevated 
stations in domestic life, and many to become the compan- 
ions of ministers and missionaries to the heathen. Repeat- 
edly was his seminary visited by the gracious influences of 
the Spirit, under which not a few were sealed to the day of 
redemption. Thus he has spread extensively a healthful. 



CHARACTER OF REV. JOSEPH EINIERSON. 337 

redeeming influence in the church and in the world — an 
influence which lives and acts while he sleeps — an influ- 
ence which is no small item in that great amount of influ- 
ence, which is, under God, to renovate the world. Already 
does it clearly appear, that wise was that providence, in the 
failure of his health, which drove him from the ministry to 
the employment of a teacher of the young. 

It was rational to expect, that such a man would have a 
calm and peaceful death. His was indeed of this character. 
Persuaded, months before his exit, that the time of his de- 
parture drew near, he set his house in order and prepared 
for the last. Uniformly was he composed. Uniformly did 
he abound in counsel, admonition, and conversation fitted 
to his dying condition. In much that he said, his heart was 
full, his language strong, and his very countenance expres- 
sive. He said to myself, " I have always in my life had 
fears of death and a dread of the grave, but both are now 
gone." To the remark, " God renders your passage to the 
grave pleasant," he replied, "I fear too pleasant ; there is 
nothing but pleasantness in it." To two brethren in the 
ministry, he said : " The ministry never appeared tome be- 
fore so important and glorious. Be faithful, brethren, in 
your great work. I trust I am going upward ; in a little 
while one of you will be called upward ; and the other, not 
long after. The reward is glorious." To the inquiry, 
" How do you feel to-day. Sir ? " he replied, " I feel as 
though I had been in heaven for two days," When told he 
had been enabled to do much for Christ, he answered, 
" That is too strong ; compared with those who have done 
nothing, I have done a good deal." He spoke with rapture 
of the certainty and glory of the millennium, and rejoiced 
in view of the advance of Christ's kingdom, since he came 
upon the stage. In a word, the Rev. Joseph Emerson was 
in life a rare instance of one, who in the view of observers 
did no evil, and great good with all his might. His end 
was full of heaven and immortality. Though dead, he yet 
speaketh. 

29 



THE HEROES OE THE REYOLUTION. 

SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF GEN. PIERCE, 
BY MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS. 



A NOBLE race they were, the tried 

And true of olden time ; 
Our glorious sires who bled and died 

For this our own free clime ; 
Oh ! hallowed be each sacred name, 
That fearless to the conflict came, 
And freely on the battle plain 
Poured out their blood like drops of rain. 

Few are the sculptured gifts of art, 

A nation's love to tell ; 
And many a brave and gallant heart 

Hath mouldered where it fell ; 
The spiry maize luxuriant waves 
Its long green leaves o'er heroes' graves, 
And thoughtless swains the harvest reap 
Where our stern fathers' ashes sleep ! 

But after years the tale shall tell. 

In words of light revealed, 
Who bravely fought, who nobly fell ; 

And many a well-fought field, 
Outspread beneath this western sun, 
Shall live with ancient Marathon ; 
And Bunker Hill and Trenton's name 
Be linked with old Platea's fame ! 

But the surviving few, who stand 

A remnant weak and old ; 
Sole relics of that glorious band 

Whose hearts were hearts of gold j 
Oh ! honored be each silvery hair. 
Each furrow trenched by toil and care ; 
And sacred each old bending form 
That braved oppression's battle-storm ! 



THE FOUNDERS OF OUR GOYERNMENT. 



BY WILLIAM M. RICHARDSON, LL. D. 

The love of liberty has always been the ruling passion of 
our nation. It was mixed at first with " the purple tide " of 
the founders' lives, and circulating with that tide through 
all their veins, has descended down through every genera- 
tion of their posterity, marking every feature of our country's 
glorious story. May it continue thus to circulate and de- 
scend to the remotest period of time. 

Oppressed and persecuted in their native country, the 
high indignant spirit of our fathers formed the bold design 
of leaving a land where minds as well as bodies were chain- 
ed, for regions where Freedom might be found to dwell, 
though her dwelling should prove to be amid wilds and 
wolves, or savages less hospitable than wilds and wolves ! 
An ocean three thousand miles wide, with its winds and its 
waves, rolled in vain between them and liberty. They per- 
formed the grand enterprise, and landed on this then uncul- 
tivated shore. Here, on their first arrival, they found 

The wilderness " all before them, where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide." 

Their courage and industry soon surmounted all the dif- 
ficulties incident to a new settlement. The savages retired, 
the forests were exchanged for fields waving with richest 
harvests, and the dreary haunts of wild beasts for the cheer- 
ful abodes of civilized man. Increasing in wealth and pop- 
ulation with a rapidity which excited the astonishment of 
the old world, our nation flourished about a century and a 
half, when England, pressed down with the enormous weight 



340 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

of accumulating debts, and considering the inhabitants of 
these states as slaves, who owed their existence and preser- 
vation to her care and protection, now began to form the 
unjust, tyrannical and impolitic plan of taxing this country 
without its consent. The right of taxation, however, not 
being relinquished, but the same principle under a different 
shape being pursued, the awful genius of freedom arose, 
not with the ungovernable ferocity of the tiger to tear and 
devour, but with the cool, determined, persevering courage 
of the lion, who, disdaining to be a slave, resists the chain. 
As liberty was the object of contest, that being secured, the 
offer of peace was joyfully accepted ; and peace was restored 
to free, united, independent Columbia ! 

But the arduous labors of the sons of liberty found not 
here an end. They had torn the branch from the parent 
trunk, but to make it flourish independent of that trunk, 
and relying only on its own strength for the collection of 
sap and nurture, was still a task of much difficulty. 

The confederation then existing between the states, form- 
ed in times of tumult and disorder, and deeply tainted with 
the times in which it was formed, was incomplete, void in 
a great measure of system, and without energy. Its attrac- 
tive powers not being sufficient to keep the several states, 
impelled different ways by jarring interests, in the orbits, 
where general harmony would require them to move, they 
were continually deviating from their true paths, continually 
impinging upon one another. Thus confusion seemed to 
have universally seized the affairs of our nation ; and our 
country, still oppressed with the burdensome effects of a 
war, which had to a great degree exhausted its infant 
strength, without funds, without credit, exhibited scenes of 
irregularity and disorder, which the honest patriot will ever 
pray may never be repeated. 

In this perplexed state of our public affairs the sages of 
our country convened ; and with Washington at their 
head, formed and recommended to the people of the United 
States, our present excellent constitution, which was soon 



FOUNDERS OF OUR GOVERNMENT. 341 

after deliberately adopted by the several states of the union. 
This constitution, marking out the path of duty to all the 
states, fixing the boundary between the rights retained and 
the rights surrendered by the people, and containing in it- 
self a just balance of all its powers, has displayed in opera- 
tion a general harmony, not unaptly compared to the har- 
mony which philosophy has discovered to exist among the 
spheres. Though Europe, with which we have been exten- 
sively connected in commerce, has been shaken to its cen- 
tre with eruptions more horrid than those of Etna or Vesu- 
vius ; though war has deluged its territories with seas of 
blood, and peace has not found where to place the sole of 
her foot, not even on the top of the Alps, without dipping it 
in gore ; though the clouds, with aspect black and threat* 
ening, have twice gathered in our horizon, and the lights 
ning has streamed, the thunder has roared, and the hail has 
pattered amidst our commerce on our own shores ; still our 
nation has not only been preserved from the ravages and 
distresses of war, but has in the space of twelve years ex» 
perienced a greater increase of wealth, strength, and all 
other national blessings, than other countries have done in 
as many centuries. 

Immortal wreaths are due to the heroes who fought our 
revolutionary battles. May the sun of glory ever blaze in 
unclouded day upon their tombs ; while laurels, green as 
our fields, luxuriant as the growth of our vales, and umbra* 
geous as the oaks of our mountains, spring around to deck 
the spot where their honored bones may rest ; yet, great as 
is the desert of our warriors, wreaths as green and as large 
and as rich are due to the authors of our excellent frame 
of government. If those separated us from a foreign gov- 
ernment, these have taught us to govern ourselves. If those 
freed us from tyranny abroad, these have secured us from 
tyranny at home. If our nation, in following our warriors, 
proved itself brave in the glorious cause of freedom, in adopt- 
ing the constitution framed by our sages, it has proved itself 
wise, virtuous, and worthy to be free. If our WashingtoNj 
29* 



342 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

at the head of our warriors, laid the broad and solid founda- 
tion of his immortal fame, and raised the superstructure 
high as humanity is wont to rise ; at the head of those states- 
men and sages who framed our constitution, he has added 
another loft to the stupendous fabric, has finished the super- 
structure, and his character thus completed now stands the 
loftiest and noblest pyramid of human greatness the world 
has ever seen. 



"WE'LL MEET AGAIN." 



BY SAMUEL T. HILDRETH 



I ASKED if I should cherish still 

Those dreams and hopes of earlier days, 

When scarce I knew why on her face 
1 loved to gaze. 

The hill looked down with calm delight, 
While silence slumbered on the plain ; 

She only said " Good night, good night ! 
We '11 meet again." 



Those random gifts should I preserve. 
And deem each one of love a token, 

The chance-plucked leaf — the silvan flower, 
Which she had broken ? 

The hill looked down with calm delight. 
While silence slumbered on the plain; 
She only said " Good night, good night ! 
We '11 meet again." 



Oh ! would she linger in her walks 
A moment by each favorite tree. 
And gather violets from the turf. 

As if for me .'' 

A blush — a smile — that tone so slight, 
I bent to catch — but all in vain ; 

I only heard — " Good night, good night! 
We '11 meet again." 



And would she think, when groves were bare. 

How kindly in that solemn hour. 
My holiest thoughts would cluster round 

The withered flower ? 

Her glance met mine — their deep reply 
Those glistening eyes could not retain ; 

Her glance told all: " Good bye — good bye 
Fair girl ! we '11 meet again." 



ENERGY OF THE WILL. 

BY PROF. THOMAS C. UPHAM. 

A HIGHER degree of voluntary power, than is allotted to 
the great mass of mankind, seems to be requisite in those, 
who are destined to take a leading part in those great 
moral, religious, and political revolutions, which have from 
time to time agitated the face of the world. It is no easy 
task to change the opinions of men, to check and subdue 
vices which have become prevalent, or to give a new aspect 
and impulse to religion and liberty. The men, who take a 
lead in these movements, are in general men of decision 
and firmness ; no others would answer the purpose. If the 
gentle spirit of Melancthon had been placed in the precise 
position occupied by Luther, would the great event of the 
Protestant reformation have been urged forward with the 
same impetus, and to the same issues 1 

Not unfrequently have the philanthropist and the Christian 
Missionary placed themselves in situations, where extreme 
suffering and even death itself seemed to be inevitable. Un- 
alterably fixed in their high purpose, amid present suffering 
and the sure anticipation of future and greater woes, they 
have often exhibited a wonderful heroism, not indeed in the 
cause of war and its attendant devastations, but for the 
sake of renovating the sensibilities, and soothing the count- 
less miseries of their fellow-men. In the boundless forests 
of North and South America, on the shores of the Nile 
and the Ganges, and on the banks of solitary streams un- 
known to civilized man, in frozen Greenland and the burn- 
ing sands of Africa, in the distant islands of the sea, amid 
the wretched hamlets of the dreary Alps, wherever there is 



ENERGY OF THE WILL. 345 

ignorance to be enlightened or sorrow to be soothed or souls 
to be saved, their astonishing labors of benevolence have 
been witnessed, and their names will be held in veneration 
down to the last ages. 

When society becomes greatly unsettled either in its 
religious or political aspects, when there is a heaving and 
tossing to and fro, a removal of the old land-marks, and a 
breaking up of the old foundations, then it is, that men, 
not merely of intellect, but of decision and energy, (saga- 
cious, cool, decided, persevering, resolute,) find their way 
upward to the summit of the conflicting elements, and 
subject them to their guidance. Such is the natural 
course of things; such men are needed, and no others 
are capable of taking their places ; and they become almost 
of necessity the advisers and leaders in the nascent order 
of society. The prominent leaders, therefore, in every 
great religious or political revolution will be found to illus- 
trate the fact, that there are original and marked differ- 
ences in the degree of power, which is appropriate to the will. 

Look at the men who presided at the events of the great 
English Revolution of 1640, particularly the Puritans ; men 
of the stamp of the Vanes, Hampdens, and Fleetwoods ; 
who, in embarking in the convulsions of that stormy period, 
had a two-fold object in view, the security of political lib- 
erty, and the attainment of religious freedom ! Were they 
weak men 1 Were they men wanting in fortitude ? Were 
they uncertain and flexible, vacillating and double-minded 1 
History gives an emphatic answer to these questions. It 
informs us, that they entered into the contest for the great 
objects just now referred to, with a resolution which noth- 
ing could shake, with an immutability of purpose resem- 
bling the decrees of unalterable destiny. They struck for 
liberty and religion, and they struck not tJmcc merely, but 
as the prophet of old would have had them ; smiting 7?ia?ii/ 
times, and smiting fiercely, till Syria was consumed. They 
broke in pieces the throne of England; they trampled 
under foot her ancient and haughty aristocracy ; they erected 



346 ' THE NEW-IIAIMPSHIRE BOOK. 

the standard of religious liberty, which has waved ever 
since, and has scattered its healing light over distant lands; 
and by their wisdom and energy they not only overthrew 
the enemies of freedom at home, but made the name of 
their country honored and terrible throughout the earth. 
They seem to have entirely subjected their passions to their 
purposes, and to have pressed all the exciting and inflam- 
mable elements of their nature into the service of their 
fixed and immutable wills. 

In the prosecution of their memorable achievements, 

" Of which all Europe talked from side to side," 

they acted under the two-fold pressure of motives drawn 
from heaven and earth ; they felt as if they were contend- 
ing for principles which were valuable to all mankind, and 
as if all mankind were witnesses of the contest ; at the 
same time that they beheld on every side, in the quickened 
eye of their faith, the attendant angels eagerly bending 
over them, who were soon to transfer to the imperishable 
records on high the story of their victory and reward, or of 
their defeat and degradation. All these things imparted 
additional fixedness and intensity to their purposes. " Death 
had lost its terrors, and pleasure its charms. They had 
their smiles and their tears, their raptures and their sorrows, 
but not for the things of this world. Enthusiasm had made 
them Stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar 
passion and prejudice, and raised them above the influence 
of danger and corruption. It sometimes might lead them 
to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. 
They went through the world like Sir Artegale's man Talus 
with his flail, crushing and trampling down oppressors, 
mingling with human beings, but having neither part nor 
lot in human infirmities ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, 
and to pain ; not to be pierced by any weapon, not to be 
withstood by any barrier." 



THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE. 



BY CALEB STARK. 



"Written after a moonlight ramble on Drummond's Hill, IT. C, the scene of that Woody action, fought 
July 25, 1814, where New Hampshire valor shone conspicuously. 

In other days yon fatal hill, 

Glittered with arms and waved with plumes, 
When the sad sunset on their steel, 

Flashed its last splendors; even's glooms 
Rang with the bugle's martial breath 
That called the brave to deeds of death. 

Then the dismal cry of slaughter 

Broke on midnight's slumbering hour; 
And the parched ground drank blood like w^ater, 

As beneath the deadly shower 
Of musket and artillery, 
With motto calm yet bold, " I 'll try," 

The bristling ranks move on, 
Mid deafening thunder, sulphurous flash. 
And shouts, and groans, and forests' crash, 
Till hark ! the sharp, clear bayonet's clash, 

Tells that the work is done. 

There deeds of deathless praise proclaim, 
How rolled War's tide when Ripley's name 

Swelled the wild shout of victory ; 
And dauntless Miller and McNeil 
Led foremost, in the strife of steel. 

The flower of northern chivalry ; 
While Scott from British brows then tore 
The laurels dyed in Gallic gore ! 

But these terrific scenes are past ; 
The peasants' slumbers, the wild blast 

Alone shall break them, 
And those proud bannered hosts are gone, 
Where the shrill trumpet's charging tone 

No more may wake them. 
Time in his flight has swept away, 
Each vestige of the battle fray, 
Save that the traveller views around. 
The shattered oak — the grass-grown mound 

That shrines a hero's ashes ! 



348 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



Peace to the brave ! around their stone 
Shall Freedom twine her rosy wreath, 
And, though with moss of years o'ergrown, 
Fame shall applaud their glorious death, 
Lono- as Niaofara dashes ! 



As an appropriate pendant, the following graphic descrip- 
tion of the battle, and of the noble conduct of the twenty- 
first (New-Hampshire) regiment, under Ripley, Miller, and 
M'Neil, as detailed by an eye-witness, is inserted. 

" The fight raged some time with great fury, but, it be- 
came apparent, uselessly to the Americans, if the enemy 
retained possession of the battery, manifestly the key of their 
position. I was standing at the side of Colonel Miller," said 
the Major, '' when General Ripley rode up and inquired 
whether he could storm the battery with his regiment, while 
he supported him with the younger regiment, the twenty- 
third. Miller, amid the uproar and confusion, deliberately 
surveyed the position, then quietly turning with infinite cool- 
ness, replied, ' I '11 try, Sir.' I think I see him now," said 
the Major, " as drawing up his gigantic figure to its full 
height he turned to his regiment, drilled to the precision of 
a piece of mechanism. I hear his deep tones — ^Tivcnty- 
Jirst, attention ! Form into column. You will advance 
up the hill to the storm of the battery. At the word * Halt 1 ' 
you will deliver your fire at the portlights of the artillerymen, 
and immediately carry the guns at the point of the bayonet. 
Support arms, forward, march ! ' Machinery could not have 
moved with more compactness than the gallant regiment 
followed the fearless strides of their leader. Supported by 
the twenty-third, the dark mass moved up the hill like one 
body, the lurid light glittering and flickering on their bay- 
onets, as the combined fire of the enemy's artillery and 
infantry opened murderously upon them. They flinched 
not — they faltered not — the stern deep voices of the offi- 
cers, as the deadly cannon-shot cut yawning chasms through 
them, alone were heard : ' Close up — steady, men — 



BATTLE OF LUNDY's LANE. 349 

Steady.' Within a hundred yards of the summit, the loud 
* Halt ! ' was followed by a volley — sharp, instantaneous 
as a clap of thunder. Another moment, rushing under the 
white smoke, a short furious struggle with the bayonet, 
and the artillery men were swept like chaff from their guns. 
Another fierce struggle — the enemy's line was forced 
down the side of the hill, and the victory was ours — the 
position entirely in our hands — their own pieces turned 
and playing upon them in their retreat. It was bought at 
a cruel price — few of the officers remained that were not 
killed or wounded. The whole tide of the battle now 
turned to this point. The result of the conflict depended 
entirely upon the ability of the victorious party to retain it. 
Major Hindman was ordered up, and posted his force at 
the side of the captured cannon, while the American line 
correspondingly advanced. 

'' Stung with mortification, the brave General Drummond 
concentrated his forces, to retake by a desperate charge the 
position. The interval amid the darkness was alone filled 
by the roar of the cataract, and the groans of the wounded. 
He advanced with strong reenforcements, outflanking each 
side of the American line. We were only able, in the 
murky darkness, to ascertain their approach by their heavy 
tread. ' They halted within twenty paces — poured in a 
rapid fire, and prepared for a rush.' Directed by the blaze, 
our men returned it with deadly effect, and after a desper- 
ate struggle, the dense column recoiled. Another interval 
of darkness and silence, and again a most furious and des- 
perate charge was made by the British, throwing the whole 
weight of their attack upon the American centre. The 
gallant twenty-first which composed it, received them with 
undaunted firmness — while the fire from our lines was 
' dreadfully effective.' Hindman's artillery served with the 
most perfect coolness and effect. Staggering, they ao-ain 
recoiled. During this second attack. Gen. Scott in person, 
his shattered brigade now consolidated into a sincrJe battal- 
ion, made two determined charges upon the right and left 
30 



350 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

flank of the enemy, and in these he received the scars 
which his countrymen now see on his manly front. Our 
men were now almost worn down with fatigue, dying with 
thirst, for which they could gain no relief. The British, 
with fresh reenforcements — their men recruited and rested 
— after an interval of another hour, made their third and 
final effort to regain the position. They advanced — deliv- 
ered their fire as before — and although it was returned 
with the same deadly effect, they steadily pressed forward. 
The twenty-Jirst again sustained the shock, and both lines 
were soon engaged in ' a conflict, obstinate and dreadful 
beyond description.' The right and left of the American 
line fell back for a moment, but were immediately rallied 
by their officers. * So desperate did the battle now become, 
that many battalions on both sides were forced back,' the 
men, engaged in indiscriminate melee, fought hand to hand, 
and with muskets clubbed ; and ' so terrific was the conflict 
where the cannon were stationed, that Major Hindman had 
to engage them over his guns and gun carriages, and finally 
to spike two of his pieces, under the apprehension that they 
would fall into the hands of the enemy.' Gen. Ripley at 
length made a most desperate and determined charge upon 
both of the enemy's flanks; they wavered — recoiled — gave 
way — and the centre soon following, they relinquished the 
fight, and made a final retreat. The annals of warfare on 
this Continent have never shown more desperate fighting. 
Bayonets were repeatedly crossed ; and after the action 
many of the men were found mutually transfixed. The 
British force engaged was about five thousand men — the 
American thirty-five hundred : the combined loss in killed 
and wounded, seventeen hundred and twenty-two, officers 
and men. 

''The battle commenced at half past 4 o'clock in the af- 
ternoon, and did not terminate till midnight." 



THE CUSTOMS OF OUR FATHERS. 

FROM A SPEECH AT THE WILTON CENTENNIAL. 
BY ABIEL ABBOT, D.D. 

I LOOK around and ask, Where are the fathers? but 
nothing is seen but their precious remembrance in their 
sons. They were men whom I well remember, whom I have 
always held in high esteem and veneration. Their devout 
and venerable appearance in this holy temple, where they 
religiously and constantly worshipped, is now fresh in my 
memory. The impressions on my young mind at their piety 
and uprightness, and their friendly and heavenly deport- 
ment here, at home and every where, were a rich blessing 
to me, and rendered the memory of those venerable patri- 
archs most precious and lasting. I see here my sisters and 
their daughters, whom I hail and recognize as bearing the 
resemblance of our venerated mothers, of whom I ever think 
with the warmest affection and most respectful regard. They 
were worthy companions and helps-meet for our fathers. 
They were partners in all their toils, hardships and priva- 
tions. They were patient, contented, and cheerful ; and by 
their efforts alleviated the burdens of their husbands, and by 
their smiles encouraged them in their labors and trials. 
Their countenance and kind expressions are still fresh in 
my mind, though years have elapsed since they and their 
beloved companions went to their better home. They came 
to houses not finished, not painted, not ceiled, as we see 
them now ; they had no parlor, no carpet, no curtains, no 
sofa ; for some of these every-day conveniences they had no 
word in their vocabulary. But they were happy, — happi- 



352 



THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 



ness is the property of mind. They took good care of the 
household. They wrought flax and wool ; the card, the 
spinning wheel, and the loom, were the furniture of the 
house. All were clothed with domestic products ; articles 
were also made for the market. They were healthy and 
strong ; they and their daughters were not enfeebled by 
luxuries and delicacies, nor with working muslins or em- 
broidery ; tea and cake were rarely used ; coffee was un- 
known. Their dress was plain, and adapted to the season 
and their business ; one dress answered for the day and for 
the week. Their living and dress produced no consump- 
tions, as now. Our fathers and mothers were benevolent, 
hospitable and kind ; the stranger was received, as in the 
most ancient time, with a hearty welcome. In their own 
neighborhood and town, they were all brothers and sisters. 
There was an admirable equality, a home-feeling and heart- 
feeling among all. Their visits were not formal, ceremo- 
nious and heartless, but frank, cheerful and cordial. Their 
sympathy for the sick, unfortunate and distressed, was ex- 
pressed by their ready assistance and kindly affectionate 
help. When prosperous, all partook in the common joy ; 
when sickness or calamity befell any, all were affected, the 
sorrow was mutual, and aid and relief, as far as possible, 
were afforded. They were, indeed, one family, — all mem- 
bers of one sympathizing body. 

But what calls forth our warmest gratitude and most af- 
fectionate esteem, and is the crowning feature of their char- 
acter, and, in fact, comprehends their other virtues, is, they 
were godly laomen ; they were religious women ; they care- 
fully observed religious institutions. The duties of the Sab- 
bath, of family and public worship, and family instruction, 
were conscientiously and faithfully performed. Bad roads, 
unpleasant weather, want of comfortable conveyance, were 
hinderajices to public worship easily overcome. If the snow 
had blocked up the road, our mothers fastened on the snow 
shoe. The ox-sled was often used in winter to convey the 
family, especially our mothers and sisters, to the church, 



THE CUSTOMS OF OUR FATHERS. 353 

The Sabbath was devoted to the study of the Bible and other 
religious purposes. Blessed is the memory of our mothers 
for their early religious instruction of their children, and 
others committed to their care. After the service of the 
sanctuary, the children were called together ; they read in the 
Primer or Testament, as they were able ; they were taught 
to say their hymns, their prayers, and the catechism. Their 
prayers were repeated every night on going to bed. The 
mother began their instruction early ; she literally brought 
them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. I 
reverence and thank my mother for teaching me the cate- 
chism. Though it is hard to be understood, not fitting for 
babes, and in some parts erroneous, it was the best she knew, 
— and I thank her for teaching it, and my father for en- 
couraging me to learn it. A deep reverence of God and 
sacred things was imprinted on my mind ; and I have no 
doubt of my being a better man and better christian for this 
instruction. 

And much, very much of the prosperity, peace and high 
reputation of the inhabitants of this town, is owing to the 
faithful instruction and exemplary character of our fathers 
and mothers. Your well-fenced and cultivated fields, your 
neat and well-furnished dwellings, your domestic enjoy' 
ments, and the privileges of your children, are, in great 
measure, to be attributed to the love of truth and the prac- 
tice of honesty, industry, integrity and piety, which were 
early impressed upon the minds of the young. Our fathers 
and mothers were careful to educate no domestic for the 
penitentiary ; and to their lasting honor be it said, that no 
one of their children has been imprisoned and punished for 
crime. 



30^ 



ANDRE. 



BY CHARLES W. UPHAM. 

[Born at PortsmouUi, September 9, 1814. Died December, 1834.] 



Beside his path the beauteous Hudson rolled 
In silent majesty. The silvery mist, 
Like the soft incense of an eastern fane, 
Went sparkling upward, gloriously wreathing 
In the sun-light. And the keen-eyed eagle, 
From his high eyrie mid the crags, looked down 
In majesty, where stood the lonely one, 
In silence, musingly — 

" Would it were thus 
With me. My spirit shares not now, as wont, 
In the wild majesty of nature here. 
Methinks there is some weight within, sinking 
My better thoughts. Would now that I might lead 
Some gallant battle charge — where the wild trump 
Enkindles valor, and the free winds swell 
My country's banner." 



It was a lowly room ; 
And the stern heavy tread that by the door 
Went to and fro, told it the captive's cell. 
And he was there ; the same, with his high brow, 
And soul-disclosing eye ; — and he was doomed ; 
But on his face a smile seemed gathering. 
And the fixed gaze marked that a wakeful dream 
Had borne him far away. And now he saw 
His father's home, in its old stateliness. 
Amid the bending trees ; and the bright band 
Of his young sisters, with their voices gay, 
Echoing there, like some glad melody. 
And then another form, bewildering 
Each thought, came rising up in peerless grace, 
But dimly seen, like forms which sleep creates. 
His breath grew quicker, and his only thought 
Dwelt upon her, as seen in that last hour, 
Her full dark eye on his, and the closed lip 
Just quivering with a tender smile, with which 
The proud young thing would veil her parting grief, 
And check her trembling voice, that did outsteal, 



ANDRE. 355 



Like witching tones upborne upon the wind 

Of summer night — telling of her high trust. 

But suddenly a change was on his face, 

And then he paced the room in agony 

At one dark thought. 'T was not that he must die 

But that he should not die a soldier's death : 

Alas, and shall she hear it, that bright one 

That ever saw him, in her dreams, rise up 

Like the young eagle to the sun .? 

***** 
The morning came. 
And he stood up to die ; — the beautiful 
And brave — the loved one of a sunny home, 
To die as felons die; — yet proudly calm. 
With his high brow unmoved. And the full soul 
Beamed in his eye unconquered, and his lip 
Was motionless, as is the forest leaf 
In the calm prelude to the storm. He died ; 
And the stern warriors, to his country foes, 
Wept for his fate. And who, that e'er had hopes, 
Weeps not for him, meeting such misery 
In glory's path .' 



TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 



BY REUBEN DIMOND MUSSEY, M. D. 

Water is the natural and proper drink of man. Indeed, 
it is the grand beverage of organized nature. It enters 
largely into the composition of the blood, and juices of ani- 
mals and plants, forms an important ingredient in their 
organized structures, and bears a fixed and unalterable re- 
lation to their whole vital economy. It was the only bev- 
erage of the human family in their primeval state. 

In that garden, where grew " every tree pleasant to the 
sight and good for food," producing all the richness and 
variety of " fruit and flower " which an omnipotent and all- 
bountiful Creator could adapt to the relish of his senses, 
and the exigencies of his entire organization, it cannot for 
a moment be doubted that man was in a condition best 
suited to secure to him the uninterrupted, as well as the 
highest and best exercise and enjoyment, of his physical, 
mental, and moral powers. His drink was water. A river 
flowed from Paradise. From the moment that river began 
to " water the garden," till the present, no human inven- 
tion has equalled this simple beverage ; and all the attempts 
to improve it by the admixture of other substances, whether 
alcoholic, narcotic, or aromatic, have not only failed, but 
have served to deteriorate or poison it, and render it less 
healthful and safe. 

Water is as well adapted to man's natural appetite, as to 
the physical wants of his organs. A natural thirst, and the 
pleasure derived from its gratification, were given us to 
secure to the vital machinery the supply of liquid necessary 



TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 357 

to its healthy movements. When this natural thirst 
occurs, no drink tastes so good, and in truth none is so 
good as water ; none possesses adaptations so exact to the 
vital necessities of the organs. So long as a fresh supply 
of liquid is not needed, so long there is not the least relish 
for water ; it offers no temptation, while its addition to the 
circulating fluids would be useless, or hurtful. 

It is a striking remark of the celebrated Hoffman, that 
" if there be in nature a universal remedy, that remedy is 
water." 

Under a more perfect acquaintance with the functions of 
life, and with the influences exerted upon it by remedial 
agents, may it not be hoped that the period will arrive when 
not only ardent spirit, but all intoxicating liquors, will be 
regarded as not absolutely necessary in the practice of physic 
or surgery? It may, perhaps, be worth remarking, that 
throughout the wide-spread kingdoms of animal and vege- 
table nature, not a particle of alcohol in any form or com- 
bination whatever has been found as the effect of a single liv- 
ing process, but that it arises only out of the decay, the disso- 
lution, and the wreck of organized matter, or of its ever-varied 
9,nd wonderful productions ; and is it probable that the b^ 
neficent author of such a countless multitude of medicinal 
agents as exist in the products of vital action, would have 
left, to be generated among the results of destructive chem- 
istry, an article essential to the successful treatment even of 
a single disease ? 

The profession of medicine has an extensive scope. It 
looks into the structure of animal machinery, it investigates 
the laws of its vital m.ovements, both in health and disease, 
and contemplates a variety of influences, by which its com- 
plicated processes are accelerated, retarded, suspended, or 
destroyed. It learns, that to the functions of life belongs a 
standard rate of action, beyond which they cannot be safely 
excited or driven ; that alcoholic and narcotic stimulants 
derange and confuse the healthy movements, exhaust the 
vital power more than nature intended, and induce prema- 



358 THE N E W - H A M P S H I R E BOOK. 

ture decay, and dissolution. This profession claims the 
strictest alliance with the cause of humanity ; it cherishes 
good-will, and proffers substantial blessings to men. It ex- 
tends its hand not only to the exhausted, bed-ridden patient, 
and to the tottering and dejected invalid, but even to the 
healthy man, to save him from the pain and suffering which 
ignorance, or custom, or recklessness might bring upon 
him. 

Let physicians, then, be true to their profession. Let 
them study the duties they owe to the communities with 
whom they live and labor. Let them teach the means of 
preserving health, as well asof combating disease; let them 
show, as it is in their power to do, that the taking of medi- 
cine in health in order to prevent disease is most absurd 
and mischievous ; that the surest guaranty of health is a 
correct regimen, and that the best treatment of acute dis- 
ease is often very simple. 

Let them explain as far as practicable to those around 
them, the mechanism of their physical organization, and 
when it can be done, '^ knife in hand," the' work will be 
easy. Let them expound, so far as known, the beautiful and 
harmonious laws enstamped upon this organization, by 
which its complicated movements and diversified phenomena 
are sustained ; laws as immutable in their nature, and in- 
flexible in their operation, as those that hold the planetary 
system together ; and like them originating in the same in- 
comprehensible and mighty mind, which, acting in the 
strength of its own philanthropy and unchangeableness, 
gave to man a moral code from amidst the smoke and 
and thunders of Sinai. No law cominor from this high 
source can be violated with impunity; and he who in- 
fringes a law of the vital economy, receives, in an injury 
done to the machinery of life, the penalty of his transgres- 
sion with no less certainty than he who leaps from a tower, 
heedless of gravitation. With all its given power of ac- 
commodation to circumstances, no possible training or 
education of this machinery can change the nature of its 



TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 859 

primitive adaptations, and make an article congenial and 
healthful, which was originally repulsive and noxious. No 
human ingenuity or perseverance can render impure air as 
wholesome as that which is pure, or any form of intoxicat- 
ing liquor as healthful as water. 

So long as alcohol retains a place among sick patients, 
so long there will be drunkards ; and who would undertake 
to estimate the amount of responsibility assumed by that 
physician who prescribes to the enfeebled, dyspeptic pa- 
tient the daily internal use of spirit, while at the same time 
he knows that this simple prescription may ultimately ruin 
his health, make him a vagabond, shorten his life, and cut 
him off from the hope of heaven ? Time was when it was 
used only as a medicine, and who will dare to offer a guar- 
anty that it shall not again overspread the world with disease 
and death ? 

Ardent spirit — already under sentence of public con- 
demnation, and with the prospect of undergoing an entire 
exclusion from the social circle, and the domestic fireside 
— still lingers in the sick chamber, the companion and 
pretended friend of its suffering inmates. It rests with 
medical men to say how long this unalterable, unrelenting 
foe of the human race shall remain secure in this sacred, 
but usurped retreat. They have the power, and theirs is 
the duty to perform the mighty exorcism. Let the united 
effort soon be made, and the fiend be thrust forth from this 
strong but unnatural alliance and companionship with men, 
and cast into that " outer darkness " which lies beyond the 
precincts of human suffering and human enjoyment. 



THE SKATER'S SONG. 



BY EPHRAIjM PEABODY 



Away ! away ! — our fires stream bright 

Along the frozen river, 
And their arrowy sparkles of brilliant light 

On the forest branches quiver. 
Away, away, for the stars are forth, 

And on the pure snows of the valley, 
In a giddy trance the moonbeams dance ; 

Come let us our comrades rally. 

Away, away, o'er the sheeted ice. 

Away, away, we go ; 
On our steel-bound feet we move as fleet 

As deer o'er the Lapland snow. 
What though the sharp north winds are out, 

The skater heeds them not ; 
Midst the laugh and shout of the joyous rout 

Gray winter is forgot. 

'T is a pleasant sight, the joyous throng 

In the light of the reddening flame. 
While with many a wheel on the ringing steel 

They wage their riotous game : 
And though the night-air cutteth keen. 

And the white moon shineth coldly, 
Their homes, I ween, on the hills have been ; 

They should breast the strong blast boldly. 

Let others choose more gentle sports, 

By the side of the winter's hearth, 
Or at the ball or the festival. 

Seek for their share of mirth ;. 
But as for me, away, away. 

Where the merry skaters be ; 
Where the fresh wind blows and the smooth ice glows, 

There is the place for me. 



THE ABORIGINES OE NEAV ENGLAND. 

BY JEREMY BELKNAP, D.D. 

Whilst the British nation had been distracted with in- 
ternal convulsions, and had endured the horrors of a civil 
war, produced by the same causes which forced the planters 
of New England to quit the land of their nativity ; this wil- 
derness had been to them a quiet habitation. They had 
struggled with many hardships ; but Providence had smiled 
upon their undertaking ; their settlements were extended 
and their churches multiplied. There had been no remark- 
able quarrel with the savages, except the short war with the 
Pequods, who dwelt in the south-east part of Connecticut. 
They being totally subdued in 1637, the dread and terror of 
the English kept the other nations quiet for near forty years. 
During this time, the New-England colonies being con- 
federated for their mutual defence, and for maintaining the 
public peace, took great pains to propagate the gospel among 
the natives, and bring them to a civilized way of living, 
which, 'with respect to some, proved effectual ; others re- 
fused to receive the missionaries, and remained obstinately 
prejudiced against the English. Yet the object of their ha- 
,tred was at the same time the object of their fear ; which 
led them to forbear acts of hostility, and to preserve an out- 
ward show of friendship, to their mutual interest. 

Our historians have generally represented the Indians in 
a most odious light, especially when recounting the effects 
of their ferocity. Dogs, caitiffs, miscreants and hell-hounds, 
are the politest names which have been given them by some 
writers, who seem to be in a passion at the mention of their 
cruelties, and at other times speak of them with contempt. 
31 



362 THE N E W - H A M P S II I R E BOOK. 

Whatever indulgence may be allowed to those who wrote 
in times when the mind was vexed with their recent 
depredations and inhumanities, it ill becomes us to cherish 
an inveterate hatred of the unhappy natives. Religion 
teaches us a better temper, and providence has now put an 
end to the controversy, by their almost total extirpation. 
We should therefore proceed with calmness in recollecting 
their past injuries, and forming our judgment of their. char- 
acter. 

It must be acknowledged that human depravity appeared 
in these unhappy creatures in a most shocking view. The 
principles of education and the refinements of civilized life, 
either lay a check upon our vicious propensities, or disguise 
our crimes ; but among them human wickedness was seen in 
its naked deformity. Yet, bad as they were, it will be difficult 
to find them guilty of any crime which cannot be paralleled 
among civilized nations. 

They are always described as remarkably cruel ; and it 
cannot be denied that this disposition, indulged to the great- 
est excess, strongly marks their character. We are struck 
with horror, when we hear of their binding the victim to 
the stake, biting off his nails, tearing out his hair by the 
roots, pulling out his tongue, boring out his eyes, sticking 
his skin full of lighted pitch-wood, half roasting him at the 
fire, and then making him run for their diversion, till he 
faints and dies under the blows which they give him on every 
part of his body. But is it not as dreadful to read of an 
unhappy wretch, sowed up in a sack full of serpents and 
thrown into the sea, or broiled in a red-hot iron chair ; or 
mangled by lions and tigers, after having spent his strength 
to combat them for the diversion of the spectators in an am- 
phitheatre ? And yet these were punishments among the 
Romans, in the politest ages of the empire. What greater 
cruelty is there in the American tortures, than in confining 
a man in a trough, and daubing him with honey, that he 
may be stung to death by wasps and other venomous insects ; 
or flaying him alive, and stretching out his skin before his 



THE ABORIGINES OF NEW ENGLAND. 363 

eyes, which modes of punishment were not inconsistent 
with the softness and elegance of the ancient court of Per- 
sia ? Or, to come down to modern times ; what greater mis- 
ery can there be in the Indian executions, than in racking 
a prisoner on a wheel, and breaking his bones one by one 
with an iron bar ; or placing his legs in a boot and driving 
in wedges one after another ; which tortures are still, or 
have till lately been used in some European kingdoms? I 
forbear to name the torments of the inquisition, because 
they seem to be beyond the stretch of human invention. If 
civilized nations, and those who profess the most merciful 
religion that ever blessed the world, have practiced these 
cruelties, what could be expected of men who were stran- 
gers to every degree of refinement, either civil or mental. 

The Indians have been represented as revengeful. When 
any person was killed, the nearest relative thought himself 
bound to be the avenger of blood, and never left seeking, 
till he found an opportunity to execute his purpose. Whether 
in a state where government is confessedly so feeble as 
among them, such a conduct is not justifiable, and even 
countenanced by the Jewish law, may deserve our consider- 
ation. 

The treachery with which these people are justly charged, 
is exactly the same disposition which operates in the breach 
of solemn treaties made between nations which call them- 
selves christians. Can it be more criminal in an Indian, 
than in an European, not to think himself bound by prom- 
ises and oaths extorted from him when under duress ? 

Their jealousy and hatred of their English neighbors may 
easily be accounted for, if we allow them to have the same 
feelings with ourselves. How natural is it for us to form 
a disagreeable idea of a whole nation, from the bad conduct 
of some individuals with whom we are acquainted? And 
though others of them may be of a different character, yet 
will not that prudence which is esteemed a virtue, lead us 
to suspect the fairest appearances, as used to cover the most 
fraudulent designs, especially if pains are taken by the most 



364 



THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK 



politic among us, to ferment such jealousies to subserve their 
own ambitious purposes'? 

Though the greater part of the English settlers came 
hither with religious views, and fairly purchased their lands 
of the Indians, yet it cannot be denied that some, especially 
in the eastern parts of New England, had lucrative views 
only; and from the beginning used fraudulent methods in 
trade with them. Such things were indeed disallowed by 
the government, and would always have been punished, if 
the Indians had made complaint : but they knew only the 
law of retaliation, and when an injury was received, it was 
never forgotten till revenged. Encroachments made on their 
lands, and fraud committed in trade, afforded sufficient 
grounds for a quarrel, though at ever so great a length of 
time ; and kept alive a perpetual jealousy of the like treat-* 
ment again. 



JACOBUS FUNERAL. 



BY CHARLES W. UP HAM 



A TRAIN came forth from Egypt's land, 

Mournfiii and slow their tread ; 
And sad the leader of that band, 

The bearers of the dead. 
His father's bones they bore away, 

To lay them in the grave 
Where Abraham and Isaac lay, 

Macpelah's sacred cave. 

A stately train, dark Egypt's pride. 

Chariot and horse are there ; 
And silently, in sorrow ride 

Old men of hoary hair. 
For many days they passed along 

To Atad's threshing floor, 
And sang their last and saddest song 

Upon the Jordan's shore. 

'And Atad saw the strangers mourn. 

That silent, wo-clad band, 
And wondered much whose bones were borne, 

Thus far from Pharaoh's land. 
They saw the chieftain's grief was sore. 

He wept with manly grace ; 
They called that spot forevermore 

Misraim's mourning place. 

They passed the wave that Jacob passed. 

His good staff in his hands,* 
They passed the wave that Jacob passed 

With his returning bands. 
'Twas when he met upon his path 

His brother's wild array. 
And fled, for fear his ancient wrath 

Might fall on him that day. 

*Gen, xxxii. 10. 



31* 



IMPORTANCE OE MORAL SCIENCE. 



BY REV. WILLIAM D. WILSON. 

There is no such thing as having no philosophy of morals 
and religion, though we often hear '' practical men," as 
they like to be called, express their aversion, if not their 
contempt, for philosophy. It has been sneeringly asked in 
a public meeting, " if philosophy ever baked a single loaf of 
bread," and that too by one who is recognized as a public 
teacher of morals and religion. We would answer him — 
no, my brother ; but then "It is written, ' man shall not 
live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out 
of the mouth of God.' " 

There is no one that speaks or acts, who has not a phi- 
losophy of morals, — of his actions, — though he may be 
unconscious of it. No one acts or speaks without motives 
and principles of some kind or other ; and it can be shown 
what those motives and principles are ; and when they are 
reduced to a system, they constitute the philosophy of that 
man's morals — his moral philosophy. This philosophy he 
may have learned from his father and mother, though they 
never called their precepts and instructions by the name of 
philosophy ; he may have learned it from the wants and 
necessities of his condition, or from the impulses of his 
warm and generous, or cold and selfish heart, as the case 
may be. It is most likely that he received some part of it 
from each of these sources. But a philosophy he has, 
though he may never have reflected upon the motives and 
principles of his actions enough to have given them a name, 
much less, to have reduced them to a system. 



IMPORTANCE OF MORAL SCIENCE. 367 

Since this is so, the importance of making moral philoso- 
phy a matter of reading and study is obvious. The morals 
of a community will be low and selfish unless they do so. 
But alas for them, when the philosophy that is received and 
taught is itself low and selfish, and, instead of raising the 
character, would persuade men that there is no need of 
any thing higher ; that in fact there is no height above 
them, and that those generous and enthusiastic souls, who 
reject its clear, judicious, and prudent precepts, are fanatical 
and righteous overmuch. "We are no advocates for fanati- 
cism or mysticism ; but we would assert with all possible 
distinctness, that there is something to live for that the eye 
cannot see and the hands cannot touch ; that there is a 
wisdom which Experience cannot teach, that there is a way 
that is right which Prudence cannot find. If then we must 
have a philosophy of morals, — and we have seen that we 
must, if not voluntarily, then in spite of ourselves, — how 
unspeakably important is it that we have one that will ele- 
vate and purify rather than debase and sensualize our 
souls ! 

The system, which has been most commonly taught in 
our community hitherto is Paley's, though we hope, for the 
good of our countrymen, that few if any of them have re- 
ceived that system entirely. It is a systematic embodyment 
of selfishness, which everybody knov/s does not need to be 
taught. This is precisely the system of Ethics which 
the worldly, selfish, unregenerate heart teaches. This sys- 
tem came from and tends to worldliness and selfishness. 
It is congenial to every soul, in which the conscience and 
the spiritual faculties are not sufficiently developed to coun- 
teract its influence, and force its way up to a higher view 
of things. But it is not every soul that has spontaneity and 
force enough to do this. There are many persons, also, 
whose thoughts are too much occupied with the business of 
their calling in life to allow them to give so much attention 
to the subject, as to discover the inadequacy and debasing 
tendency of Paley's system. These men would fulfil the 



368 THE N E V/ - H A M P S H I R E BOOK. 

moral law ; but they are too busy to give much time to a 
study into its nature and requirements. They therefore 
take the most commonly received exposition of that lavr, 
as a standard of duty, trusting that those who make it their 
business to study into these matters would never approve 
and recommend a faulty or inadequate system. If this sys- 
tem happen to be a low one, the characters which they 
form upon it will be low too. The Ethical system of any 
age is the exponent of the state of morals in that age. If 
the morals were better than the system, the people would 
repudiate the system ; and if the. system were much better 
than the morals, it would be regarded as extravagant, over 
scrupulous, and be modified or laid aside for another. 
Hence he that would labor most effectually for the improve- 
ment of a people's morals, must also labor to introduce a 
more perfect theory of morals. But as it is with a people 
so it is with individuals, — every man's theory is the expo- 
nent of himself A man may borrow a theory that is higher 
or lower than himself, but the dress never suits him ; it can 
never be his. It is too small for him and he bursts it, or it 
is too large for him, and he is a David in Saul's armor. 



DO THEY LOVE THERE STILL? 



BY MRS. 1\I A R Y R . PRATT 



" Do they love there still ? for no voice I hear," 

Said a maid as she thought of her childhood's home, 

Of the rural bower, and the streamlet clear, 

And the flowery fields where she used to roam; 

And she sighed, for no answering echo came 

To tell that hers was a cherished name. 

" Do they love there still ? " in that ancient hall 
Where the orient sun shed his golden light, 

Where the moonbeams played on the painted wall, 
And the brilliant stars decked the joyous night.' 

But no voice replied, for the tide of time 

Had borne the loved to another clime. 

"Do they love there still? " where the young and gay 
With elastic step trod the mazy dance, 
And words that the lips might never say 

Spoke to the heart in the passing glance ? 
And the maiden wept when a stranger tone 
Told that her friends were gone — all gone ! 

"Do they love there still? " where at early morn 

They met to peruse the classic page, 
To cull bright gems and the mind adorn, 

And in high pursuits its powers engage ? 
And tones that the maiden's bosom thrill, 
Tell of a love that is cherished still. 

" Yes, they love there still ! " and the golden chain 
Has wreathed its links with a clasp so strong, 
That the heart which its pressure would not retain 

Must struggle against it hard and long, 
Or, parting asunder all earthly ties. 
By Heaven's high mandate to glory rise. 

And then, O then, in the "better land," 

Where the good of earth shall together meet, 

May all who compose that sister band 
As sainted spirits each other greet ; 

Then what bliss divine will the bosom thrill. 

As the echo rings, " Tkcy love there still! " 



BURNS AND COWPER. 

E Y OLIVER W . r> . P E A B O D Y . 

What a history was that of Robert Burns ! From child- 
hood to maturity, he is condemned by hopeless want to la- 
bor, till he exhausts a constitution of unusual vigor; his 
verses are composed and repeated to those around him, while 
he is following the plough ; but the world goes hard with 
him, and he resolves to seek in another land the prosperous 
fortune which his own denies. In order to defray the ex- 
penses of his voyage, he publishes a collection of his poems ; 
and then, for the first time, bursts upon the world the knowl- 
edge of his power. He goes to Edinburgh; there he is 
courted by the wise, the brilliant, and the gay ; the manly 
form and flashing eye of the young farmer are the attraction 
of the glittering saloon, while his conversation is the wonder 
of the philosophic circle; but these are unprofitable honors ; 
and his country has no higher permanent reward for him, 
than the post of an exciseman. The principle, once supe- 
rior to adverse fortune, melts beneath the morning sun- 
beams of prosperity ; his prospects are now shrouded in 
deeper gloom; he retains virtue enough to lament his errors 
and infirmities, and too much strength of passion to correct 
them ; instead of submitting to the evils incident to his con- 
dition, he exhausts his spirit in the vain attempt to war 
against them, as the imprisoned eagle dashes himself against 
the iron bars of his cage ; till at length he sinks, in the prime 
of manhood, into an obscure and almost unhonored grave. 

Dugald Stewart expressed the opinion, that the intellect 
of Burns, bold, vigorous and commanding as it was, must 



BURNS AND C O W P E R . 37 1 

/ ... 

have rendered him conspicuous, to whatever subject it might 
be applied. Others have believed that it was even better 
adapted to other departments of thought than that to which 
it was devoted ; but it is on his poetry alone, that his fame 
will permanently rest. Much of this can be remembered 
only with regret, as the effusion of a reckless and ungovern- 
ed spirit, repelling by its coarseness more than it attracts 
by its power. He was formed for higher purposes than to 
grovel in rude invective, or to amuse a bacchanalian rabble 
with licentious songs. His heart was naturally a fountain 
of generous and manly feeling, whose waters gushed out in 
a sparkling tide, spreading around them a bright circle of 
living green. The secret of his attraction is his fidelity to 
nature. It is by this that he touches the most delicate 
chords of sympathy ; and where shall we look for a finer 
example of this power, than in his Cotter's Saturday Night, 
so familiar, yet how beautiful ! The peasantry of Scotland 
loved him ; for he invested their feelings and sentiments, 
their joys and sorrows, with dignity and beauty ; he re- 
deemed their language from contempt ; he made the heart 
of every true Scot burn within him, as he thought of the 
hills and valleys of his native land; he guided the footsteps 
of the pilgrim to the scenes of her traditional glories ; he 
sung those glories in such lofty strains, that the world stood 
still to listen. " When the first shovel-full of earth sounded 
on his coffin lid," says his biographer, who was present at 
his funeral, " I looked up and saw tears on many cheeks, 
where tears were not usual." A just and touching tribute 
to the bard, who had led the Muses to dwell by the lowly 
cottage fireside ; who had shown, by testimony not soon to 
be forgotten, that wherever human nature is, there are the 
elements of poetry. " Did you never observe," said Gray, 
('when rocking winds are piping loud') " that pause when 
the gust is re-collecting itself, and rising on the air in a 
shrill and plaintive note, like the swell of an ^olian harp ? 
I do assure you there is nothing in the world, so like the 
voice of a spirit." In his better moments, in the pauses of 



372 THE N E W - H A M P S II I R E BOOK. 

the storm, the melody of Burns was like the spirit's voice ; 
nothing could be more touching or more unaffected than his 
strain ; but the dark hour, the season of the conflict of his 
fiery passions, was his most familiar one; then he ran 
through every mode of the lyre, from the deepest tones of 
sorrow to the grandest strain of prophecy. With him, poetry 
was indeed the language of passion. Nature's sternest aspects 
gave him most delight, because they suited best the prevail- 
ing habit of his soul. " There is scarcely any earthly ob- 
ject," says he, "gives me more, — I do not know that I 
should call it pleasure, — but something which exalts me, 
something which enraptures me, — than to walk in the shel- 
tered side of a wood or a high plantation, in a cloudy winter 
day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and 
raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion; 
my mind is rapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him who, in 
the language of the Hebrew bard, walks on the wings of the 
wind." He composed the noble address of Bruce to his 
army at Bannockburn, while riding in a terrific storm of wind 
and rain. Would that he had never been unfaithful to na- 
ture, whether bright with sunshine or dark with storm ! 
Would that he had never suffered the ashes to gather over his 
celestial fire ; had never failed to remember, that the noblest 
way of fame is the way of virtue ! 

The brief and melancholy career of Burns terminated at 
the age of thirty-seven ; but there is little probability that, 
with his fierce spirit and consuming passions, added to the 
misery of blighted hope, length of days would have much 
enhanced his renown, or that his later years would have ful- 
filled the rich promise of the spring. In beautiful contrast 
with him, stands his contemporary Cowper, — truly a man 
of God, — held in reverence by all, who love to see high 
talent in delightful union with the amiable virtues ; by all 
who can sympathize with a meek and lowly spirit, crushed 
by the heaviest calamity under which humanity is ever called 
to suffer, yet always breathing out from the depth of his af- 
fliction, the accents of love to God and good will to man. 



BURNS AND COW PER. 373 

His multiplied biographies have made his personal history 
familiar to all readers. Year after year was his fine intel- 
lect shrouded by insanity, and when the close of life drew 
nigh, his condition realized the idea of the dark valley of 
the shadow of death. His peculiar sensitiveness, combined 
with the infirmities of a very delicate frame, compelled him 
early to retire from the agitation of the world, into deep se- 
clusion ; — there, like a river in the wilderness, unseen of 
man, but reflecting the bright blue sky of heaven from its 
bosom, his days passed tranquilly away. But his solitude 
was not the cold and selfish seclusion of the anchorite ; it 
did not chill the current of his generous affections ; and his 
sorrows, which were many, melted without hardening his 
heart. No man had ever a stronger hold on the hearts of 
those around him ; his unobtrusive charities, his tenderness 
for others, made his whole life an emblem of the influences 
of the faith on which his soul was anchored. Nothing can 
be more touching than the love with which he clung to the 
remembrance of the mother, whom he lost in infancy ; his 
allusions to her in his writings, remind us of those address- 
ed by Pope to the venerable parent, who was spared to wit- 
ness the noontide glories of his fame. And the memory of 
Mrs. Unwin, — the excellent friend who watched him 
through that painful suffering, when the burden of affection 
ceases to be light and easy, and the love of many waxes cold, 
— is indissolubly bound with his. Under every aspect, and 
in all its relations, the character of Cowper may be studied 
with delight. 

His genius was as bold and original, as his character was 
pure and humble. There is not one of the poets of his 
country, who owed less to those who went before him ; the 
path in which he adventured was his own, and he trod it 
with a just and manly confidence in his own powers. His 
poetry is a faithful transcript of his own thoughts and feel- 
ings, as his descriptions are living copies of the scenery and 
objects around him. Sometimes he ventures into the domain 
of satire ; perhaps too frequently ; though his ridicule is 
32 



^74 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

never personal, it is not always in perfect harmony with the 
prevailing gravity of his theme. He makes no effort to pro- 
duce effect ; the effect which he does produce arises not 
from highly wrought passages, but from the general strain 
and tenor of his writings; indeed, he is so natural and un- 
pretending, that the very absence of apparent effort some- 
times causes the reader to lose sight of the extent and ver- 
satility of his genius. Yet his powers were vast and varied. 
Now he utters the grand and melancholy warnings of the 
Hebrew prophets; now his inimitable humor flashes out 
with singular attraction; presently, familiar scenes are 
brought most vividly before us in his graphic descriptions. 
Under all circumstances, he awakens a deep interest in the 
welfare of his race, and the loftiest aspirations for their intel- 
lectual and social freedom. Other poets have looked upon 
religion as the rock of the desert ; Cowper struck that rock 
as with a prophet's rod, and made it flow with healing wa- 
ters. He transplanted new subjects into the domain of poe- 
try, and made them flourish with unwonted beauty. Who, 
before him, ever called up with such effect the images of 
domestic life and the recollections of the happy fireside? 
Who, before him, ever spread over outward nature the chas- 
tened light of religious feeling, which makes it lovely as our 
own autumnal landscape, under the sweet influences of the 
Indian summer 1 

The influence of Burns and Cowper has been direct and 
obvious. As the shades were closing around the eighteenth 
century, several stars of more than ordinary brilliancy were 
successively appearing above the horizon. Campbell had 
already published his Pleasures of Hope, the very best of all 
his poems ; suggested perhaps by the Pleasures of Memory, 
of Rogers, which appeared not long before ; and Coleridge, 
Southey, Wordsworth, and Scott had already exhibited their 
rich and various powers. It was upon this brilliant circle, 
that the influence of Burns and Cowper was chiefly mani- 
fested. Burns laid open the new world of Scottish scenery, 



BURNS AND COW PER. 



375 



manners, language, and character, to other and more fortu- 
nate adventurers, and thus enabled Scott to gather an unfad- 
ing laurel harvest from the heaths and mountains of his 
country. It is a circumstance worth remembering, that 
Burns himself appears to have foreseen the future glory of 
the mighty minstrel. When Scott was quite a lad, he caught 
the notice of the poet, by naming the author of some verses, 
describing a soldier lying dead on the snow. Burns regard- 
ed the future minstrel with sparkling eyes, and said, " Young 
man, you have begun to consider these things early." He 
paused on seeing Scott's flushing face, and shook him by 
the hand, saying, in a deep tone, " This boy will be heard 
of yet." Nor was the effect of his lyrical success less strik- 
ing ; there can be little doubt that the melodies of Moore, 
which are worth all his other writings put together, were 
suggested by those, by which Burns did so much for the 
fame of Scottish minstrelsy. Still less can it be questioned, 
that the diversified and brilliant character of all the later 
poets we have mentioned, may in great part be traced to the 
force and originality of Cowper's example. Of all the po- 
ets of his time, he is certainly to be regarded with the great- 
est veneration ; his memory will be the very last to fail. It 
is well that it should be so ; for his aim was to raise poetry 
to its proper elevation, by making it the handmaid of high 
and holy purposes, the nurse of lofty aspirations for virtue 
and religious purity, and of ardent sympathy with what is 
free and noble, the enlarger of the intellect, and the purifier 
of the heart. We do not deem it a vain and idle persua- 
sion, that the day will come, when her celestial vestments 
and starry diadem will no more adorn the painted forms of 
vice and sensuality ; when mankind will no longer do hom- 
age to the idols of perverted genius. Perhaps all the living 
generation shall not taste of death, before the eastern sky 
kindle with the day-spring, that shall herald the coming of 
an age, when poetry, instead of turning the waters into blood, 
like the burning mountain of the apocalypse, shall bear 



376 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

some faint resemblance to the descending city of the same 
mysterious vision, over the light of whose towers and pala- 
ces darkness shall have no dominion, and into whose gates 
shall enter nothing but the pure and blameless. 



HARYEST HYMN, 



BY MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS. 



God of the rolling yeaT ! to thee 

Our songs shall rise — whose bounty pours 
In many a goodly gift, with free 

And liberal hand, our autumn stores. 
No firstlings of our flocks we slay, 

No soaring clouds of incense rise ; 
But on thy hallowed shrine we lay 

Our grateful hearts in sacrifice. 

Born of thy breath, the lap of spring 

Was heaped with many a blooming flower ; 
And smiling summer joyed to bring 

The sunshine and the gentle shower ; 
And autumn's rich luxuriance now, 

The ripening seed— the bursting shell, 
And golden sheaf and laden bough, 

The fulness of thy beauty tell. 

No menial throng, in princely dome. 

Here wait a titled lord's behest. 
But many a fair and peaceful home 

Hath won thy peaceful dove a guest; 
No groves of palm our fields adorn. 

No myrtle shades or orange bowers, 
But rustling meads of golden corn. 

And fields of waving grain are ours. 

Safe in thy care, the landscape o'er. 

Our flocks and herds securely stray ; 
No tyrant master claims our store. 

No ruthless robber rends away ; 
No fierce volcano's withering shower. 

No fell simoom, with poisonous breath, 
Nor burning suns, with baleful power, 

Awake the fiery plagues of death. 

And here shall rise our songs to thee, 

Where lengthened vales and pastures he. 
And streams Iro singing wild and free 

Beneath a blue New-England sky ; 
Where ne'er was reared a mortal throne. 

Where crowned oppressor never trod. 
Here — at the throne of Heaven alone. 

Shall man, in reverence, bow to God. 

32* 



DUTY OF THE JUDICIARY. 



BY JEREMIAH MASON, LL. D. 

The Constitution of this State, and that of the United 
States, apparently jealous of the encroaching tendency of 
the legislative power, have not only defined it with caution 
and exactness, but have also, in many instances, where from 
former experience the greatest danger was apprehended, 
guarded it with special prohibitions. But these " parch- 
ment barriers " will have little effect, unless carefully guard- 
ed, and firmly defended by the judiciary. The powers are 
divided, and granted to separate and independent depart- 
ments, to the end, that each may, in its turn, be checked 
and restrained, in any attempt, to exercise powers not grant- 
ed to it. To restrain the legislative department from over- 
leaping its boundary, the chief reliance is placed on the 
Judiciary. 

That the courts of law, not only have the right, but are 
bound to entertain questions, and decide on the constitu- 
tionality of acts of the legislature, though formerly doubted, 
seems to be now almost universally admitted. But an erro- 
neous opinion still prevails, to a considerable extent, that 
the courts, in the discharge of this great and important 
duty, ought to act, not only with more than ordinary delib- 
eration, but even with a degree of cautious timidity. The 
idea is, that these are dangerous subjects for courts, and 
that they ought not to declare acts of the legislature uncon- 
stitutional, unless they come to their conclusion, with ab- 
solute certainty, like that of mathematical demonstration, 
and where the reasons are so manifest, that none can doubt. 
A court of law, when examining the doings of a co-ordinate 



DUTY OF THE JUDICIARY. 379 

branch of the government, will always treat it with great 
decorum. This is proper in itself, and necessary to pre- 
serve an harmonious understanding between independent 
departments. So also, it ought to be, after the most care- 
ful deliberation only, that a proceeding of such co-ordinate 
branch should be pronounced void, — because the result is 
always important. But the examination is to be pursued 
with firmness, and the final decision, as in other cases, must 
be according to the unbiassed dictate of the understanding. 

An act of the legislature must, necessarily, have the sanc- 
tion of the opinion of a majority of a numerous body of 
men. It cannot therefore be supposed, that the reasons, 
against the validity of such an act, will ordinarily be so 
plain and obvious, as to leave no manner of doubt. To 
require then, that courts shall abstain from declaring acts 
of the legislature invalid, while a scruple of doubt remains, 
is nothing less than to demand a surrender of their jurisdic- 
tion in this particular ; in the due exercise of which consists 
the chief, if not only efficient security, for the great and 
fundamental principle of our free governments. Experience 
shows, that legislatures are in the constant habit of exerting 
their power to its utmost extent. They intentionally act up 
to the very verge of their authority : and are seldom re- 
strained by doubts or timidity. If the courts, fearing a 
conflict, adopt a course directly opposite, by abandoning 
their jurisdiction, and retiring whenever a plausible ground 
of doubt can be suggested, the time cannot be distant, when 
the legislative department " will draw all power into its im- 
petuous vortex." 

The security of private rights is the only valuable and 
important advantage, which a free government has over a 
despotic one. If the rights of individuals must be liable to 
be violated by despotic power, it matters not whether that 
power rests in the hands of one, or many. Numbers im- 
pose no restraint, and afford no security. Experience has 
shown, where all the powers of government have been 
united, that their being exercised by a numerous assembly, 



380 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

has afforded to private rights no security against the gross- 
est acts of violence and injustice. 

The legislature can make laws, by which private rights 
may become forfeited. But the courts of justice are alone 
competent to adjudge and declare the forfeiture. While the 
legislative and judicial powers are kept separate, it can never 
be competent for the legislature, under any pretence what- 
ever, to take property from one and give it to another, or in 
any way infringe private rights. Were that permitted, all 
questions of private right might be speedily determined by 
legislative orders and decrees ; and there would be no oc- 
casion for courts of law. 

The deciding on matters of private right appertains, plain- 
ly and manifestly, to the judiciary department. It consti- 
tutes the chief labor of courts of justice. As then one de- 
partment cannot exercise the powers belonging to another, 
it follows, that the legislature cannot rightfully assume any 
part of this jurisdiction, thus belonging to the judiciary de- 
partment. The province of the legislature is to provide 
laws, and that of the courts to decide rights, according to 
the laws. Were the courts to assume the power of making 
the laws, by which they are to decide, their judgments would 
be arbitrary. Because, in making the laws, they could have 
no other rule than their own discretion. So v/hen the legis- 
lature, whose right it is to make the law, assumes the power 
of adjudicating, the separate powers of government become 
united, and a despotism is created. And accordingly, it will 
be generally found, that where legislatures have attempted 
to interfere with private rights, they have decided with little 
or no regard to existing laws, but according to their own 
arbitrary discretion ; or in other words, by the exercise of 
despotic power. 



OUR MOUNTAIN HOMES. 

WRITTEN AMID MY NATIVE MOUNTAINS, ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. 
BY MRS. SUSAN R. A. BARNES. 



The glad, green earth beneath our feet 

The blue, brigbt heaven is greeting ; 
And voiceless praise is rising up, 

Responsive to the meeting ; 
Yet wherefore wakes a scene like this 

The warm heart's wild emotion? 
The slave may boast a home as bright, 

Beyond the pathless ocean. 

Why do we love our mountain land.? 

The murmuring of her waters.'' 
Italia's clime is far more bland. 

More beautiful her daughters! 
Why pine we for our native skies? 

Our cloud-encircled mountains? 
The hills of Spain as proudly rise, 

As freshly burst her fountains ! 

Alas for mount or classic stream. 

By deathless memories haunted, 
For there Oppression, unrebuked. 

His iron foot hath planted. 
The curse is on her vine-clad hills, 

'T is rife upon her waters. 
But doubly deep upon her sons. 

And on her dark-eyed daughters ! 

Go fling a fetter o'er the mind, 

And bid the heart be purer ; 
Unnerve the warrior's lifted arm, 

And bid his aim be surer. 
Go bid the weary, prisoned bird 

Unfurl her powerless pinion. 
But ask not of the mind to brook 

The despot's dark dominion ! 

Why turn we to our mountain homes 
With more than filial feeling? 

'T is here that Freedom's altars rise. 
And Freedom's sons are kneeling ! 



383 THE NEW-HAIVIPSHIRE BOOK 



Why sigh we not for softer climes ? 

Why chng to that which bore us ? 
'T is here we tread on Freedom's soil, 

With Freedom's sunshine o'er us ! 

This is her home — this is her home, 

The dread of the oppressor; 
And this her hallowed birth-day is, 

And millions rise to bless her ! 
'T is joy's high sabbath ; grateful hearts 

Leap gladly in their fountains, 
And bless our God who fixed the homo 

Of freedom in the mountains ! 



VINDICATION OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH DELIVERED AT FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON, OCT. 19, 1841. 



BY GEORGE BARSTOW. 

I SHALL pass no eulogium upon New Hampshire. I shall 
spread before you the page of history, and rest her defence 
there. If the dead could speak, if the slain could rise 
from Bunker Hill and Bennington, and all the hard-fought 
fields of the Revolution, there would be a cloud of witnesses 
to tell you, that in generous sacrifice of blood and treasure 
for the cause of American Liberty, New Hampshire was 
not behind her sister States. She had but little commerce, 
and was naturally the favorite and pet of the mother coun- 
try. Notwithstanding this close alliance and strong favor- 
itism from the crown, she entered into the contest wuth a 
whole soul ; and never stooped to the vile calculation of 
her interest in the result. Of the burdens of the revolu- 
tionary war, she bore one thirty-eighth part ; while her pro- 
portionate share was but one forty-seventh. When the 
humble navy of the Revolution consisted of but seven ships, 
New Hampshire furnished one.* Have her calumniators 
forgotten that she gave brave M'Clary to die side by side 
with Warren? Do they forget McNeil, who bears about 
your streets the wounds and scars of Chippewa? Have 
they never read of Stark and his militia ? Nor of Langdon 
and Sullivan, — Gilman and Thornton, — Cilley and Scam- 
mel, — Poor and Dearborn, — Reid and Whipple, and 
Miller ? Are they unmindful of the services of New 

* The Raleigh, launched at Portsmouth, May 21, 177C. 



384 THE NEW -HA MPS HIRE BOOK. 

Hampshire regiments in the brilliant victory at Trenton — 
beneath the burning sun of Monmouth — and at Stillwater 
and Saratoga? Do they overlook the New Hampshire 
troops amidst the sanguinary scenes of Bridgewater ? 
Search the annals of either war, and you will find that the 
sons of New Hampshire have contributed their full share 
to fill up the measure of the country's glory. 

While such is the testimony of history, if any son of 
New Hampshire can be found recreant enough still to say 
that he is ashamed of the State, the State may well be 
ashamed of Mm. For my own part I glory in such a 
country, I wish for no prouder satisfaction than to be per- 
mitted to stand before this vast assembly and plead the 
cause of my native land. I claim for New Hampshire a 
share of all that constitutes our national character and 
honor. If we are known in foreign lands as a gallant, 
intelligent and powerful people, a part of that reputation 
belongs to New Hampshire. Memorials of the courage 
and prowess of her sons are scattered throughout America, 
and the world. Monuments of her genius adorn every de- 
partment of learning and invention. 

If I were to speak of talents alone, throwing aside all 
party distinctions, it would be sufficient to mention the 
names of Webster and Woodbury and Cass. If I were 
called upon for evidences of hardy enterprise, they abound 
every where. They have passed into proverbs. They 
may be traced from the winter encampment of the eastern 
lumberman to the hut of the western pioneer. Go to the 
army, the halls of Congress, and the learned professions. 
Is New Hampshire silent there? Follow, if you please, 
the wildest track of navigation into the polar seas. A New 
Hampshire mariner has been there before you. But it is 
unnecessary to wander abroad. Look around here. Call 
up in long array the fair merchants of Boston. Question 
them from whence they came. Select only those who are 
known as upright and generous dealers. Is New Hamp- 
shire unrepresented among them ? No. And where were 



VINDICATION OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. lySo 

the characters of these men formed ? Not in the city of 
their adoption. Character is always formed in youth ; and 
theirs was formed and completed in all its energy, bright- 
ness and purity, before they left their native hills. They 
brought it here with them. It was perhaps their only 
capital. 

With what justice is New Hampshire stigmatized as an 
" ignorant and benighted region 1 " Enter the public 
schools. Examine the journals of legislation. You will 
find that no State has made more judicious and thorough 
provision for the education of the entire people. She fur- 
nishes fifteen common schools, with six hundred scholars ; 
three students in college, and forty students in academies, 
for every two thousand inhabitants. If there be a log cabin 
in that State, I assure you it does not stand beyond the reach 
of public instruction. The poorest boy that comes forth 
from its rustic portals, enjoys all the advantages of a free 
school. I have said nothing of seminaries and higher 
institutions, for I would not dwell upon this subject in de- 
tail. But this charge of " ignorance and benightedness " 
has been rung in our ears till it can be borne no longer. It 
is a false, unfounded charge. It is time that it be silenced 
forever. 

The State of which I speak knows little of the splendors 
or the miseries of crowded cities : 

" 'Tis a roujh land of earth, and stone, and tree, 
Wliere breathes no castled lord nor cabined slave." 

It is inhabited chiefly by husbandmen who till their own 
fields with their own hands; whose debts and obligations 
are mainly due to the Power that rules the varied seasons ; 
whose simplicity of manners and genuine social intercourse 
might be quoted as an instance of that happy state of 
society which is the constant theme of poetry. It is true 
they lead not a life of bloated ease. Their life is one of 
industry and frugality. But the virtues are all theirs ; for 
these are companions of toil. Theirs too is freedom of 
33 



386 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 

thought and of action. Who is independent if not the 
husbandman ? He feels not the vile tyranny of patronage. 
No lordly dictator can withhold from him the rains and 
dews of Heaven. However unpopular his opinions may 
be, the earth will not yield less on that account ; and he 
fears not to utter his whole mind. Of such men the popu- 
lation of that State is chiefly composed. They are fearless 
and free. They love freedom. And should the time ever 
come when Liberty is driven from the shores of Commerce, 
she will find a refuge and a resting place among the fast- 
nesses of the granite hills. New Hampshire was one of 
the first States to aspire to freedom, and will be among the 
last to yield it up. A mountainous country, full of narrow 
defiles and rugged steeps, is the last to be stamped by the 
heel of Conquest. Liberty makes her last stand in moun- 
tain passes, and when vanquished in the final contest, as- 
cends towards heaven, and is seen taking her last flight 
from the summits of the mountains. 



NOTES 



NOTES 



Hugh Moore. — Mr. Moore was a self-educated man, a practical printer. Most 
of his pieces were written at an early period of life, and, though deficient in the 
graces of learning and cultivation, possess much freshness and imagination. They 
evince a degree of native poetic power, which makes us regret his death, at the early 
age of 28 years, at a time, too, when he was just about entering upon a station of 
increased honor and responsibility. 

It may not be amiss to remark here, how many of our writers of talent and pro- 
mise have died in the prime of life. Buckminster, Wilcox, Haven, Haines, Abbot, 
Mrs. Daniels, Ward, Upham, Hildreth, Sarah Smith, and others, died at an age, when 
most persons have done little for fame ; and a large proportion have been taken away 
from their labors in the very midst of their growing usefulness. 



Robert Dinsmoor, the Rustic Bard. — Mr. DinBmoor was born at Londonderry, 
N. H,, about 1755, and died at Windham, N. H., about 1830, He was of Scotch- 
Irish descent, and inherited not a little of their strong religious feeling, their humor, 
and their poetic temperament. At an early age he entered the army of the Revolu- 
tion, and at its close settled as a farmer in Windham. He possessed not even the 
advantages of a common school education, and like Burns, of whom he often reminds 
us, found his inspiration and his subjects in his daily avocations and experiences. In 
1829, a volume of his poems was published under the title of his favorite signature, 
"The Rustic Bard." 



Mrs. Eunice True Daniels. — The name of Mrs. Daniels, like many others in 
these pages, is probably unknown to most of our readers, but it merits a high rank in 
the list of native writers. A " farmer's wife, making no pretensions to superiority over 
her unassuming neighbors," performing all the duties of her station with exemplary 
fidelity, her poetical specimens here presented display a beauty, purity, originality 
and freshness, which, if needing the polish of art, are found only in the productions of 
true genius. When it is considered, too, that few if any of these pieces were 
intended for publication ; that they were among her first efforts, and were written 
under the pressure of household cares, ill health, and bereavements, we sadly think 
what would have been the full developement and maturity of such a mind, and lament 
the blight of so rich promise. 



390 NOTES. 



The frequent allusions to the death of her children, which seems to have awakened 
the poetic inspiration, are very touching, and, as well as the " Spirit Land," were 
written immediately before her death. But the " Song of the Husbandman," which 
with the distrust and unconsciousness of genius, she declared " too hastily written " 
and " very, very faulty," is a noble lyric, and a fitting tribute from a " farmer's 
wife." In a letter to the editor of the Farmer's Monthly Visiter, she says : " The 
most potent spell operating upon the mind of man, and stimulating to good and noble 
exertions, is a spell woven in the sanctuary of home. Let a man go forth from a 
scene of domestic disorder and discontent, though the sun shine ever so brightly, or 
the dews fall ever so gratefully, the heart of that man will but ill accord with the 
harmony of nature. But that man whose house is the theatre of order and useful- 
ness, whose bosom friend is the treasurer of his purse, presents a striking and happy 
contrast. Every effort within will be a new incentive to action and energy without, 
and prosperity the sure result of order, harmony, and concert." Such sentiments 
are as just and beautiful as the union of high poetic talent and a faithful discharge 
of household duties is rare and noble. It is the perfection of Woman ; and may our 
young females not forget the example of Mrs. Daniels. 



Milton Ward. — Of this writer we possess little information. He died about 
1825 at Hanover, N. H., of which place, it is believed, he was a native, at the age of 
about 20 years. In 1825, a volume of his poems was published under the title of 
" Poetic Effusions." Most of the pieces were written at the age of 16 years. " The 
Lyre " is said to have been written at that early age, and must be confessed to be an 
instance of remarkable precocity. 



Joseph Dennie. — Mr. Dennie, though not a native of this State, spent here sev- 
eral years of his life. In 1790, on leaving College, he commenced the study of the 
law at Charleston, N. H., where after three years he made a successful debut at the 
bar. He soon removed to Walpole, N. H., but owing to his literary taste and irregu- 
lar habits, gained little business. In 1796, he became the editor of the " Farmer's 
Museum," a newspaper published at Walpole, and which became widely celebrated 
for its wit, talent and originality. Roger Vose, Thomas G. Fessenden, and other 
gentlemen in and around Walpole, were contributors to its columns, and in them first 
appeared the series of essays which afterwards, collected and published under the 
title of the ^' Lay Preacher," became so well known and honorably distinguished 
in our early literature. 



John Farmer. — Mr, Farmer was a native of Chelmsford, Mass, but removed to 
Amherst, N. H., in 1805, at the age of 16. Here he passed five years as a clerk in a 
store. Hero too he studied medicine for a time, and taught school many years, until 
constitutional ill health made him an Antiquarian. He became, says one who knew 
him well, " distinguished above all others for his minute and exact knowledge relating 
to the early history of New Hampshire, and in general of New England." He died 
at Concord, N. II., August 13, 1839, in his 50th year, more than 34 of which he spent 
in this State, and, though an invalid all his life, accomplished an amount of labor 
which is almost incredible. His N. H. Gazetteer, N. H. Register, Notes to Belknap's 
History, Town Histories, and Genealogical Register, are monuments of his talent and 
industry, and are unsurpassed for their peculiar excellences. 



NOTES. 391 



Samuel Tenney Hildreth. — Mr. Hildreth was a man of great promise, and at 
the time of his death teacher of Elocution in Harvard College. The articles selected 
were written while he was a member of college, at the age of 18, and he died at the 
age of 20 years, 

Charles W. Upham. — He was the son of Gen. Timothy Upham of Portsmouth, 
and died at the age of 20. The articles selected were not intended for publication, 
and were written at the age of 18. 



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